


The Empty Places

by actualite



Category: Baseball RPF, Sports RPF
Genre: Boston Red Sox, Hurt/Comfort, Infidelity, M/M, Texas Rangers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-11
Updated: 2013-03-11
Packaged: 2017-12-05 00:33:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 27,299
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/716822
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/actualite/pseuds/actualite
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Over the span of three years, Salty and Ian examine, contend with, and try to make up for the mistakes they've both made.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Empty Places

_Yet each man kills the thing he loves._ \--Oscar Wilde

 

The cycle of a baseball player's life always came to its peak or trough in September. It could be either the best or the most disappointing month of the year. This was certainly true for Salty, but he'd never had a peak in September, only the predictable culmination of disheartening mistakes, disappointments and regrets.

The September of 2011 was no different. The Red Sox were in the middle of a miserable collapse that would soon become one of the most notorious in the history of baseball. The clubhouse was at odds with the management. Salty was torn between his loyalties to his teammates and resentment of their attitude, and he was physically exhausted and hurting pretty bad. The Red Sox and Rangers had played two series with each other almost back to back, but Ian hadn't had the time or the desire to see Salty away from the park or even speak to him, apparently, and Salty was wondering at that point if they were even still together.

The last time he and Ian had spent any time together was during the opening series in Texas. Even then it had been a quickie in Salty's hotel room, and Ian was gone by 2am, saying he had to get an early start and couldn't stay.

In the following months Ian was really busy, and Salty understood, or thought he did. The Rangers seemed to still be on their upswing, and Ian himself was quietly becoming a superstar. Salty was happy for the Rangers and for Ian. Or he tried to be, at least. It was hard not to feel some bitterness about his own tenure with the team and to look for ways he'd been mistreated or mishandled, but for the most part he was glad to be where he was, and at that point playing for the Red Sox was still new and exciting and nearly overwhelming, a challenge for Salty to prove himself in both his makeup and his abilities. The fan base was huge, of course, and the reach of the team was tremendous, everyone knew that.

Salty told himself he didn't have time to be sad about Ian's obvious new priorities since he himself was under enormous pressure. He also told himself that what Ian apparently wanted--little to no communication--was good for both of them. But the truth was he was having a hard time with it. He'd never been the kind of person who could get better by isolating himself like Ian did. Ian's focus came from some deep, burning desire within himself to prove something, and Salty's focus came from knowing that the people closest to him believed in him, supported him, were depending on him to make them proud.

Ian was distant for most of April while Salty seemed to unravel more and more. He did get a few texts and a couple of phone calls from Ian, and while they were encouraging, they were brief. When Salty started to find himself in May, Ian seemed to think Salty wouldn't mind that he hardly ever answered Salty's phone calls or called Salty back. Ian was making new friends all the time and involved in more and more endorsements and charity projects and media events, not to mention attending a lot more private parties for not only elite athletes but local celebrities.

Soon Salty decided he should just give up trying to hold on to Ian. He knew that Ian cared about him and that it wasn't personal. Salty couldn't be angry, he told himself. He had a new baby and Ian had one on the way, too. Ian was entering the peak of his career and Salty was trying hard to establish that he had one, a legitimate one. They were both on big teams, now, teams that drew the attention of not just their own fans but the entire baseball world. There would be time in the offseason to catch up, maybe.

This is what Salty told himself. For the most part he was too exhausted at the end of the day to think much about it at all, and he doggedly tried to keep up with the demands of the season and put his own troubled ruminations on his secret gay relationship with another ballplayer out of his mind until such time that he could devote real energy to going about it right. But on sleepless plane rides and early mornings at the ballpark when it was just him and a coach and a giant empty stadium, he thought about what it would mean to go on without Ian in his life.

The Red Sox were up in Toronto toward the beginning of September. Salty had been going through a bit of a slump and was worried about getting to the end of the season without injuring himself, since he didn't want to miss the playoffs. He'd twisted one knee pretty badly chasing a knuckleball and it was giving him a lot of pain every time he swung.

That was his state of mind when he finished giving a long interview before batting practice and saw Kelly Johnson sitting in the home dugout doing something on his phone.

He'd seen Kelly a couple of times since being traded from Atlanta, of course, but it had been a long time. He'd heard Kelly had been traded a few weeks ago and was new to the league. Seeing Kelly's face made Salty feel strangely nostalgic for several reasons.

Salty always remembered his time in Atlanta as being better than it was. He was aware of this, but he couldn't really help fondly recalling what it had been like. Everyone's first major league call-up was memorable, but Salty had been so young at the time. He realized later that he was probably just called up to be showcased as trade bait, but at the time he'd been so new to everything and he genuinely believed that the team needed him.

In retrospect Salty realized that the other guys on the team hadn't been exactly warm to him, but when he was there he'd chalked it up to being new and needing to prove himself. Since then, of course, he'd seen how rookies were usually treated: picked on, of course, and teased and pranked. No one had done much of that with Salty. They'd all given him a wide berth and pretty much ignored him and all the attention he got from the media as such a big-time prospect. Salty realized later that they all knew he'd be gone soon, but he still remembered the magic of first stepping into that clubhouse, of standing on the field knowing he was part of the team and the fans were cheering _him_ , of the post-game interviews and journalists clamoring for quotes, of sitting next to legends in the dugout, even the lazy, slightly contemptuous drawl of Chipper Jones batting Salty's enthusiasm away like he would an annoying cub.

Salty spent a lot of time alone. Mac pretty openly disliked Salty, and most of the bullpen followed his lead. Frenchy was fun but kind of cliquey and loyal to Mac first and foremost, and the other young guys seemed to resent Salty for having had it so easy. He knew he was the only one on the team with no friends, but he knew he just needed some time for the guys to get to know him.

The only guy whose friendliness didn't seem to just be a form of tolerance was Kelly Johnson. He wasn't exactly inviting Salty out every night or anything, but he was the only one who seemed to be okay letting Salty talk his ear off about whatever was on his mind. He'd listen and give Salty a few tips, about baseball and about life, but always in a kind of self-deprecating way that seemed to imply he was no one worth listening to. Salty got in the habit of going to Kelly a lot when he'd had a bad game and didn't feel like he was seeing the ball well.

It took Salty a while to find out that it was a pretty open secret that Kelly enjoyed the occasional one-off with another guy. At first Salty was confused. Didn't Kelly have a pretty serious girlfriend? He tactlessly brought it up with Kelly one day. Looking back, Salty realized Kelly would have been within his rights to punch Salty in the face, but that didn't even occur to him until much later, because in the moment all Kelly did was stare at him incredulously for a second and then laugh.

"You're a fuckin' punk, you know that? Why the hell would you ask me about that?" Kelly said, turning back to the magazine he was reading.

"I just wanted to know if it was true," Salty said. "I don't think they should be spreading stories like that if it ain't."

Kelly's mouth was quirked up at one side, and he still looked amused. "Don't worry. I can take care of myself."

"So it is true?" Salty said curiously.

Kelly looked up at him and then put the magazine down. "Let me give you some advice," he said finally. "When you hear stuff like that about one of your teammates in the future, don't go running to them right away to ask about it."

"I'd wanna know if people was saying that about me," Salty said.

"As long as they're cool about it and don't go talking to some reporter I don't really care what they say about me," Kelly said.

Salty was silent for a few moments, digesting this information as Kelly picked up his magazine again. Kelly hadn't denied it, he noted.

"So do you like to be...you know, on top?" Salty said.

"Jesus," Kelly said. "Don't you have anything else to do? Go get some work in."

"I just never met a gay person before," Salty said. He actually had more invested in this conversation than just idle curiosity, but he didn't know exactly how to impart this information to Kelly.

"I doubt that," Kelly said dryly.

"Well, not that I know of, anyway."

Kelly looked at Salty, his blue eyes penetrating. "Are you gonna be an asshole about it?" he said bluntly.

"What? No," Salty said. "I would never."

Kelly stared at him for another long moment, and then flicked his eyes back to his magazine. "Not that it's any of your business, but no."

"No, you don't like to be on top?"

Kelly pursed his lips. "No," he said shortly.

Salty digested this.

"And for your information, I'm not gay. I'm bi," Kelly said under his breath.

"What's the difference?" Salty said, blinking.

Kelly grimaced. "Look, I don't really know how to--I mean, we're all just trying to do the best we can. I didn't have, like, a mentor or a coach for this. It's not like baseball. Just--be careful and be safe, okay? And try not to hurt the people you care about."

Salty's heart began to beat faster. Kelly knew, now, and Salty hadn't even had to say anything out loud. No one else knew, as far as Salty could tell, not even his wife. Just then Mac walked over and told Salty to get up out of the chair next to Kelly, so Salty did, making way for Mac. But that was okay. He had a lot to think about.

Salty was traded to Texas soon after, and he didn't really keep in touch with Kelly at all. But he remembered Kelly's advice, and though it had been very bald, it stood Salty in good stead when he fell in love with Ian.

It had been exciting at first, almost frantic. Later Salty wondered if all their feelings hadn't been heightened by the wild hopes they'd had for the team and his injury and surgery and the unknowns that that brought. The offseason after 2009 had been terrible in many ways but the most exciting of Salty's life in others, and for the first time Salty began to feel like he was becoming complete as a person because of Ian. He had a wife and kids and, if he could just come back from the surgery, a major league baseball career, but Ian brought everything full circle and Salty wondered if he could hold all of it in the balance when he was getting more than everyone else. It was almost as if he had two wives, the one he actually loved and the one who took care of him and had his children. There was something scary about it, as if it were too good to last.

When things had gone so wrong and his throwing problem blew up in the national headlines, Ian was the person who kept Salty from having a breakdown. It was difficult for Salty to trust anyone in the baseball world at that point but he trusted Ian with everything, since he was the only one who seemed to really understand where Salty was coming from and what he wanted.

Ian had been unhappy with the way Salty seemed so glad to leave Texas when he was traded to Boston and with the things Salty said about Texas, not only to Ian but also in public. Ian's team loyalty was fierce, and when Salty began to question Ian's priorities they'd had several tense arguments about what was really important in life and in their relationship. Ian had always been much more paranoid than Salty about being caught doing what they were doing, so the physical distance made things even more difficult.

They'd seemed to patch things up over the offseason after Salty was traded, Ian's disappointment about the World Series loss and Salty's own nerves about the upcoming season drawing them closer together again, but when baseball started they both put their noses to the grindstone. Thinking he understood Ian's priorities better, now, Salty tried not to be an annoyance to Ian and to respect the boundaries Ian was obviously setting.

But Salty asking for less meant Ian giving less, and as the season drew on they grew further and further apart. Salty was dealing with many feelings of disillusionment and disappointment, not only about Boston but about baseball as a whole, and people, too. Maybe especially about love. Sometimes he wondered if the only truth he could find in anything was in his children. He still felt lucky that he lived the life he did, but when he saw Tek's taciturn disregard for pretty much anything but doing what he was paid to do he understood it and felt that he might soon turn into pretty much the same.

This was his frame of mind when he saw Kelly Johnson sitting in the Blue Jays dugout in Rogers Centre. It had been a long time since he'd seen Kelly in person. He hadn't changed much; maybe he was a little thinner than he had been in 2007, but then so was Salty. Seeing Kelly reminded Salty of the person he'd been back then, and the memory was so bittersweet that he couldn't walk away from it. So he went toward Kelly in the dugout.

Kelly looked up. When he saw Salty he kept his face blank.

"Kelly Johnson," Salty said, smiling and descending the steps.

Kelly stood up, then, and smiled. Salty opened up his arms and pulled Kelly into a hug. He didn't quite know if it was Kelly he was clinging to or some younger version of both of them.

Kelly returned the hug a bit noncommittally, but when he pulled back he was still smiling.

"Hey, Salty," he said. "Good to see you." They sat down next to each other on the dugout bench, Kelly turning back to his phone briefly as Salty spoke.

"Can't believe how long it's been since we was on the Braves together," Salty said, caught up in a powerful wave of nostalgia.

"I don't know," Kelly said. "Atlanta feels pretty far away right now."

"Yeah," Salty agreed. "Oh, that's right, you live there, don't you?"

"Yeah," Kelly said. "Lauren and Cole are there right now." He put away his phone.

"I forgot you have a kid now," Salty said. "Congrats."

"Thanks. Another one on the way, actually." He looked proud.

"That's great, Kel. Boy or girl?"

"We're waiting to find out 'til it's born. I think we're both hoping for a girl."

"I've got three girls," Salty said. "Love 'em to death, but I gotta admit I was hoping the last one would be a boy finally."

"Yeah, sounds like you're outnumbered in your own house," Kelly said, grinning a little.

"Sure am," Salty said. "I don't mind too much, though. I get to be gentle with 'em."

Kelly cocked his head to the side a bit. "That's good," he said, his eyes piercing.

"Hey, listen," Salty said impulsively, "you wanna go out for a drink or something? After the game, I mean?"

Kelly blinked. "I don't know," he said. "I kind of like to get to bed early these days."

"Me too," Salty said quickly. "But it'd be nice to catch up."

Kelly was still hesitating.

"C'mon," Salty said. "Please?"

Kelly looked a little surprised, then, but after a moment he agreed. "Okay," he said. "Come find me after the game. I don't know Toronto too well yet, but I guess we can find someplace out of the way."

Salty didn't start that night. The game went into extra innings, both teams held scoreless until Brett Lawrie hit a walkoff home run in the bottom of the 11th. Salty was impatient to get out of the clubhouse, especially since the loss meant everyone, especially Beckett, who'd been the starting pitcher, would be in a foul mood. He texted Kelly as soon as he could and got a reply telling him they could meet at a bar called Souz Dal in about half an hour.

It was a pretty quick cab ride. Salty stepped out of the car and took in the rather dark facade before going into the bar. There was a lot of some kind of African art on the walls and the bar was extremely dim. There was only one older bartender and no other service people, and the place was almost empty. Not the kind of place Salty frequented on his own, not by a long shot, but Kelly had always been more of the arty type who knew about places like this. It was probably in a place like this that he'd met his wife, who by all accounts was very smart, college-educated at Georgia Tech.

Salty ordered the amber ale they had on tap and then sat down at the bar to wait for Kelly. It was nice, Salty thought, still looking around. Discreet. They wouldn't be recognized in here.

"Sorry I'm late," he heard a voice behind him say after he'd already finished one beer and had moved on to a second one. He looked up to see Kelly sitting down next to him.

"Hey," Salty said. "You want me to get you a drink? This beer is alright, actually."

"No, that's okay," Kelly said. The bartender came up, then, and asked Kelly what he wanted.

"I'll have a vodka gimlet," he said.

"What's in a gimlet?" Salty asked as the bartender moved away to make the drink.

One corner of Kelly's mouth lifted in a little smirk. Salty remembered that smirk from long ago but in the dim light of the bar it looked like a secret.

"It's like a vodka tonic except it's got lime in it."

"Oh," Salty said. "You like the fancy drinks, huh?"

"That isn't fancy," Kelly protested. "It's pretty basic. There's no, like, candied grapefruit peel or what have you."

"Hey, I get it," Salty said mildly. "Grapefruit peel could be good I guess."

The bartender came back with the gimlet and Kelly took a sip, his long fingers holding the glass delicately.

"What made you pick this place?" Salty asked.

"I found it when I was walking around this area the other day."

"You likin' it here so far?"

Kelly took another sip. "I like it okay. I mean, yeah, Toronto's great. I probably wouldn't have chosen to come here myself but I haven't met a single Canadian who wasn't the nicest, most welcoming person ever."

"I hear you," Salty said. "Never thought of Toronto as being a baseball town, though."

"It isn't," Kelly said. "But, shoot, it's got other things going for it. It's a real city, at least. Not like...Cincinnati or something."

Salty downed the remainder of his second beer and then grinned at Kelly. "You was always so fancy, Kel."

Kelly turned his head, looking amused. "You keep using that word. What's that supposed to mean?"

"I don't know," Salty said. "It's just like you came from another world with your music and your drinks and your city ways. How'd you end up a ballplayer, anyway?"

"Same way you did, I imagine."

"You coulda been in, like, the ballet or something."

"What?" Kelly said, an explosive little laugh escaping him.

Salty shook his head, signalling for the bartender to come back and give him another refill.

"There's a patio out back," he said. "Let's go out there."

When he got his drink they stood up, and Salty took Kelly's hand. He felt Kelly's fingers twitch a little in his grasp and let go, remembering that when he drank he got even more grabby than he usually was and that some people didn't like that.

They went out onto the patio, which was empty, and sat down in a corner table. The chairs were really small and the tables low, and Salty felt like a behemoth trying to fit his legs under the tabletop, whereas Kelly sank down gracefully into his chair, crossing his long legs.

"Kelly Johnson," Salty said redundantly, staring across the table. He could tell he was getting a little buzzed. He didn't drink all that often, and when he did it pretty much went straight to his head.

Kelly just gazed at him, his blue eyes unblinking.

"You ever miss those days when we was in Atlanta?" Salty said.

"Sometimes," Kelly said.

Salty leaned forward on the little table, hearing it creak as he leaned his weight on it. "You probably don't remember this but you were the first person to ever realize I was--you know."

"No, I do remember that," Kelly said. "I thought you were just rude at first, and then I realized why you were so interested. I guess you were being pretty obvious."

"Who all knows about you?" Salty asked.

Kelly eyed him. "Well...not many people. My parents and my brother probably know, but it's easier for them if I don't make them acknowledge it. I think Lauren suspects. Sometimes. But she can't tell if it's other guys or groupies. I guess it could be both."

Salty watched Kelly, the way he looked down at his glass, the way he ran his fingers along the round edge of the base.

"How do you do it?" Salty burst out, finally. "I've been trying--I had this--this thing going with someone, but I think he's worried about it going too far, and it's been months since I really saw him, you know, and sometimes I feel like I can't keep living like this. And then I think about everyone knowing and what that'd do to my wife and my kids and that's way worse and I swear no one will ever know."

Kelly looked up at Salty, sitting back in his chair. "Yeah," he said simply. "I know what you mean."

"You told me to be careful and to try not to hurt anyone," Salty said. "But I think it was already too late, even then."

"If I said that I was more talking about using a condom," Kelly said.

Salty laughed.

"I'm serious," Kelly said, though he was smiling slightly. "You can't ever go through life without hurting anyone."

"I know," Salty said regretfully. "But I wanted to try."

Kelly's eyes seemed to soften, then.

"Also," Salty said, lowering his voice even more. "I kind of hate the word 'gay.'"

Kelly laughed again. "So do I."

Salty couldn't help grinning widely, finding it strangely exhilarating to say these things out loud. "It's nice to talk about this stuff with someone," he said. Ian didn't ever like to talk about Being Gay or gay things. He liked to pretend that the rest of the world didn't exist when they were together. Salty had been fine with that at first but after the thrill of a new and illicit relationship wore off he began to be frustrated with Ian's unwillingness to ever address where they were headed. Sometimes he understood that Ian was afraid, and then he wanted to protect Ian from having to drop the illusion. He told himself that didn't matter, that it was enough to snatch a few moments in a hotel room once in a while and keep looking forward to the next time. But then when Ian ignored him or made it clear Salty was not a priority, Ian's reticence about anything serious began to seem like apathy or indifference.

"You don't talk about all this with the...the guy you're with?" Kelly asked.

"No. He doesn't like it when I bring that stuff up."

"Is he a ballplayer?" Kelly asked, sounding surprised.

Salty hesitated.

"Sorry, I shouldn't have asked," Kelly said.

"No, it's okay. I know I can trust you," Salty said warmly. "It's...well, yeah, he's a ballplayer. And he's kind of a big deal. Shit, I sound like some cleat chaser. It's not, you know, Jeter or anything like that."

"Well, that's good," Kelly said. "Is he worried about being outed or something?"

"Probably. I mean, I'm worried about that too. I just wish--but what am I saying. I don't think we're even together anymore, so, you know."

Kelly was quiet for a moment, and then he leaned forward. "Don't worry about it," he said. "I know that's easier said than done, but you're a good dude. And you're hot. He doesn't know what he's missing out on. You just gotta...wait until he realizes or until you find someone who can appreciate you."

Salty felt a rush of warm feeling for Kelly at that moment. He knew it was probably childish of him but he'd been feeling unloved and unwanted by pretty much everyone. He seemed to have reached that point with his teammates where they realized he was a little different, he always seemed to be in his wife's way, and his parents and brother were far away in Florida. Worst of all, Ian hadn't spoken to him in a long, long time. Hearing Kelly say kind things suddenly meant the world, and Salty gazed at Kelly, feeling so grateful.

Kelly leaned back a little. "Don't look at me like that," he said, looking a little nervous.

"Like what?" Salty said.

"Like...I don't know." Kelly reached up and scratched the hair right above his ear briefly. "I'm gonna go get another drink. You want one?"

"Sure," Salty said, and leaned back in his chair as Kelly got up and hurried inside.

Salty could hear the sounds of the city, but the night air was pleasant, cooler and cleaner than Boston. There were lanterns lighting the patio and he was all alone, and maybe it was the alcohol or the loneliness, but everything started to seem a bit like a dream, muted and far away, as if it weren't really happening.

When Kelly came back holding the pint of beer in his hand, Salty smiled up at Kelly as he reached for it.

"Thanks, Kel," he said. "You're the best."

Kelly lowered his eyes and sat down.

"So," Salty said, after taking a big drink. "Do you got someone who appreciates you?"

"My wife does," Kelly said. "I love her."

"I love my wife, too," Salty said. "But that's not what I mean."

Kelly looked over at the brick wall covered in ivy that surrounded the patio. "I thought I did. It was a while ago. I guess he wasn't on the same page."

It struck Salty suddenly that Kelly looked sad, not only now but all the time. Maybe it was something about his eyes, the way they glinted and looked as if they held something barely contained. Maybe it was the pout of his tiny mouth, or his crooked teeth, or the way he always looked a little bit like something was hurting him, something embedded deep inside a long time ago.

Kelly had one hand on the table, fiddling with the coaster, and Salty couldn't help but reach over and cover Kelly's fingers, stilling them for a moment.

Kelly looked up. They stared at each other, and Salty felt his heart begin to beat a little faster. Then Kelly picked up his drink and downed the remainder of it in one gulp.

"It's getting late," he said. "We should--we should go."

Salty drew his hand back and then reached for his drink to finish it, too. Then he groped for his wallet in his back pocket.

"I took care of it already," Kelly said. "Let's just get a cab."

"Oh," Salty said, surprised.

They went back through the bar and out onto the street, walking side by side in companionable silence. Salty was the one to spot an empty cab and flag it down.

They climbed in.

"Which hotel are you guys at?" Kelly said.

"No, let's drop you off first," Salty said.

Kelly eyed Salty for a moment, but then gave the driver directions.

It was another short ride, and when they pulled up Salty saw it was a very nice building, brand new, the kind with the entrance through a courtyard, further away from the road.

"I'll walk you to your door," Salty said.

"You don't have to do that," Kelly said, sounding almost exasperated.

"C'mon, I want to," Salty said, and he got out his wallet to pay the driver before Kelly could protest any more.

Salty still had a little trouble counting out Canadian coins after years of coming to Toronto, so Kelly laughingly reached over to sort through the coins Salty held in his palm with the tip of his index finger. Maybe all of Salty's senses were heightened by the alcohol and the strange haziness of the evening, but the light touch of Kelly's finger on his palm was suddenly very appealing, and he had the urge to close his hand around Kelly's.

He didn't, though, and they finally got enough money counted out to pay the driver. Salty walked a little behind Kelly to the giant glass doors of the building, and then Kelly turned.

"Salty, I don't--"

But his next words were muffled, because Salty leaned forward and kissed Kelly.

It was not a long kiss, and Kelly wasn't very responsive, but he didn't push Salty away, either, merely resting one hand on Salty's chest. His lips were warm and soft.

Salty drew back.

Kelly looked at him for a moment, and then his eyes darted away to look behind Salty before he lifted them again to Salty's face. "Are you sure this is something you want?" Kelly said, his forehead furrowing a little.

"I don't know," Salty said. He thought of Ian, suddenly. Ian was the one he really wanted, the one he needed, but Ian didn't want him, and Salty had been so lonely.

"Just this once," Kelly said.

"Yeah," Salty said. "Just tonight."

Kelly wordlessly turned and swiped his card against the sensor and punched in a security code. Salty followed him, impressed by the four elevators in the lobby and the fact that Kelly didn't even have to push any buttons for it to know exactly which floor to go to.

Kelly didn't turn the lights on inside after pushing the door open. Salty had a moment to admire the gorgeous view of the city lights spread out beneath them through giant panes of glass before the door shut behind them and Kelly reached up to draw Salty down to him.

It felt a little strange, at first. Kelly was taller and much narrower than Ian, and his short black hair was very different from Ian's feathery mop. Kelly smelled so different, too, and there was something about holding Kelly in his arms that made Salty think of holding something sleek and slippery and difficult to grasp onto, like a fish. Kelly wasn't hungry and clingy like Ian, but his movements were more practiced, more purposeful.

Salty wanted to stop thinking of Ian but he couldn't. He kept comparing at every step, from the first touch of Kelly's tongue to the indent above Kelly's hip bones. Where Ian was soft and hot, Kelly was narrow and smooth.

Kelly broke away from Salty briefly to lead him through the darkness to what must have been his bedroom. Once there, he kicked off his shoes, took his shirt off and unbuttoned his jeans, leaning down to discard them, too, and the whole process was neat and efficient. He was done before Salty had the presence of mind to realize that he should do the same, but he was beginning to realize that what he was doing here with Kelly was very different from what he'd thought.

Ian had been the first man Salty ever had sex with, and though they had never discussed it in detail, Salty was pretty sure he was if not the first at least very nearly the first for Ian, too. They figured things out together, each discovering not only new things about the other but about what it meant to have sex with another man full stop. Salty realized that he'd always felt like they were inventing everything about it all over again, making it all their own, doing it the way no one else did. They knew each other so well, and all Salty really knew how to do when it came to an encounter with another man in a bedroom was how to please Ian.

Now, facing Kelly, he felt like a beginner again. Would Kelly like what Ian liked? And if not, would Salty even enjoy whatever it was he had to do for Kelly? It was so strange, Salty thought distractedly, to do this with someone this way--with an acquaintance, maybe a friend, but not someone that made Salty feel the things that Ian made him feel.

But no, Salty thought, trying to shake himself. He had to stop thinking about Ian, because Ian had stopped thinking about him. And here was someone he'd known longer than Ian, if not better. Someone who had cared about Salty enough to be kind to him and try to help him back before he even knew what he wanted. Someone who was beautiful and generous and, wow, kneeling down in front of Salty to unbuckle his belt.

It was a pattern, Salty had to admit. He tended to go for older people--his wife, Ian, now Kelly. There was something about having someone you looked up to looking up at you, Salty thought, and Jesus, it had been a long time since anyone had looked up at him the way Kelly was now.

He got Salty's dick out, and instead of engulfing it and swallowing it up all at once like Ian tended to do, Kelly took care with it, his hands gentle and practiced, knowing just where and how to touch Salty to get him hard as he got ready to suck it. Salty could feel Kelly's breath on his skin, and then Kelly's tongue, and then Kelly was stretching that small mouth of his around the tip.

It was both awesome and terrible the way desire completely clouded Salty's brain, then. He may not have felt about Kelly the way he did about Ian, but still some instinct took over and told Salty how to be and what to do. He grasped Kelly under his shoulders and pulled him up, kissing him and reaching down with both hands to cup Kelly's ass, squeezing and pressing Kelly up against him.

Kelly gasped a little, his breath stuttering. "Salty," he breathed, as if he were surprised, and Salty squeezed again, running one hand up Kelly's back and holding his neck close, kissing him again, deeper, sloppier. The haze went almost red in Salty's vision, and all he knew was some kind of fierce and imperative need that bordered on anger but wasn't.

He pushed Kelly down on the bed, sprawling between his legs, and he reached for Kelly's thigh, hitching it up over his hip. Kelly was trying to unbutton Salty's shirt, and when he finally got it open he pushed it off Salty's shoulders. They were both naked, then, and a small part of Salty couldn't quite believe this was actually happening, but most of him was occupied with touching every part of Kelly he could reach, stroking and bending him every which way, learning a new way to be with somebody even as the things he was doing were motions he'd gone through many times before.

He was sweating, they both were, the room feeling warm and their skin sliding against each other. Kelly twisted and his breath kept hitching. Ian was always loud during sex, but Kelly wasn't, though there was something helpless and strangely exciting in the way Kelly seemed to try to choke down the sounds he was making. It was so different, so weirdly new, and even if Salty didn't have the feelings he did with Ian everything was tinged with the excitement of novelty.

Salty hoisted himself up and flipped Kelly over. Kelly looked over his shoulder, his eyes glinting in the darkness, almost like a challenge. Salty put his hands at Kelly's hips and tugged him a little closer so his ass was up in the air, his knees bent.

Kelly did moan, then, just a tiny, breathless sound of surprise, but a moan nonetheless, and hid his face, letting his head hang down.

Salty wanted to pleasure Kelly, then, make him stop choking down the sound of his enjoyment. There was also something deeper in him, something that made him feel the need to prove himself. Without thinking too much more about it, he spread Kelly's ass with his hands and swiped his tongue down over Kelly's hole.

"Fuck," Kelly said, startling. "Where the fuck did you learn to to do that?"

Salty didn't answer, just did it again, and then stabbed his tongue up against the tightness. Kelly squirmed, his back bending and arching as he pushed back against Salty almost involuntarily.

Salty worked him over, alternating his fingers and his tongue and making a filthy mess, his saliva dripping down Kelly's hole, but Kelly was quivering, all of his carefulness abandoned, spread out and panting and nearly begging Salty for his cock. Salty leaned back and wiped at his mouth with the back of his hand.

"You got a condom?" he asked.

Kelly dragged himself toward the bedside table and opened the drawer, fumbling around until he came up with a packet, which he tossed at Salty.

Salty caught it, ripping it open and unrolling it onto his dick, which was fully hard.

"You ready?" he asked, running his hand gently along one cheek of Kelly's ass.

"Fuck yes," Kelly said, assuming the same position as before.

Salty pressed a couple of fingers against Kelly's hole just to make sure, and they sank right in, Kelly's body accepting him readily.

He leaned forward then, pushing in slowly, and he could see Kelly's torso rising and falling as he breathed, could hear him inhale and exhale.

Kelly was squeezing Salty, his ass contracting around Salty's cock in tiny involuntary spasms, and, God, fucking another guy in the ass was like nothing else, Salty thought, trying hard not to come.

"You've got a fucking monster dick," Kelly gasped.

"Sorry," Salty said with difficulty.

"No," Kelly said. "No, it's just--fuck, whoever he is, he's fucking l-l-lucky," he stuttered, as Salty began to move.

"I needed this," Salty said, almost against his will. "I fuckin'--it's been so long," he groaned, resting his hand at the small of Kelly's back and pushing forward in short, tight little thrusts.

Kelly let Salty fuck him for a long time, docile and submissive even as he whimpered and clawed at the sheets. When Salty came Kelly stilled, waiting patiently for Salty to pull out and discard the condom.

When Salty turned back to take care of Kelly the way he always did with Ian if he came first, he saw that Kelly had taken hold of his dick and was finishing himself off. Salty didn't know exactly what to do, so he just stood there awkwardly, watching Kelly, who seemed to be okay with that. Not long after Kelly came, closing his eyes, his lips parting and a soft sigh escaping.

He lay there for a moment, still catching his breath, and Salty made his way to the en suite bathroom, rinsing out his mouth.

When he returned, Kelly was looking at him, his long limbs stretched out on the bed, his dick lying limp against his thigh.

"I didn't expect you to be that good," Kelly said.

Salty smiled, but it felt a little strained. Now that the haze was fading a little he felt strange about it, unable to adopt the kind of casual languor that Kelly was evincing.

"Everything I know I learned from a guy who probably won't ever admit he wants to be with me," Salty said, his thoughts turning back to Ian.

"Admit?" Kelly echoed.

"I don't know," Salty said. "When we were together, you know, things were good and I was sure of him. But when we weren't..."

Kelly reached over to rest his hand lightly on Salty's thigh. "You can't ever be really sure of another person. That's why it's hard."

Salty didn't answer. He felt a little cold, suddenly.

"I should get back to the hotel," he said after a few minutes.

"Okay," Kelly said.

He watched Salty get dressed, pulling on his boxers. "You want me to call you a cab?"

"Nah, I'll find one," Salty said.

Kelly followed him out to the door, and when they got there Salty turned.

"Thanks for tonight. I think I needed that."

"Don't thank me. You're a pretty great fuck," Kelly said. "I didn't see that coming."

"I mean--the talking--all of it," Salty said.

"You're fine," Kelly said, smiling. He paused for a moment, and then leaned forward quickly and kissed Salty's cheek. "I could tell even back when we first met. You'll always land on your feet."

Salty smiled then, too, and left.

He walked back to the hotel, glad for the quiet streets and the bright lights.

*

It was a little strange for Salty the next day at the ballpark to see Kelly and know what he looked and felt like underneath his uniform. Kelly caught his eye a couple of times and smiled a little, but he didn't say anything to Salty and for once Salty was grateful.

The series didn't go well for the Red Sox; they lost three of the four games, and then they continued to lose. The clubhouse was falling apart pretty spectacularly. Salty tried to stay positive but some of the stuff that happened was downright nasty and when the cameras were gone he pretty much tried to steer clear of everyone.

It was a very stressful time, the pressure to win becoming enormous and the pain in Salty's knee getting harder and harder to ignore. The Blue Jays came to Boston a week later, staying only two nights, but Salty texted Kelly after a game and even though they didn't meet up it felt good to receive a reply from him that was encouraging. They began to text each other more, and while Salty knew he couldn't ever have sex with Kelly again it was nice to feel like they were friends, now.

Then the Rangers clinched the AL West at the end of September, and in the early hours of the morning as he slept in a hotel in New York the night before a double header, he was awoken by his phone buzzing. Salty started awake, glancing at the clock, which read 5:14 AM. Groping for his phone on the table frantically, thinking it must be an emergency, he saw that it was Ian calling.

He sat up, staring down at the phone. He thought about whether or not he should answer it, but then he realized he should stop kidding himself: There was no way he would be able to let it go to voicemail. So he slid the bar to answer it.

"Hello?"

"Heyyy," Ian slurred, obviously drunk.

Salty waited, unsure of what to say, or what Ian even wanted.

"It's me, Salty. Hey, you there?"

"Yeah," Salty said.

"Did you see? We clinched. We're going to the playoffs again."

"I did see," Salty said. "Good for you." Then, thinking maybe that sounded sarcastic, though he hadn't meant it that way, he said, "I'm happy for you, Ian."

"What about you guys, you gonna lock this thing up?"

"That's the plan," Salty said, though it was hard to keep up the optimism.

"You gotta, Salty," Ian said. "I wanna see you so bad."

Again Salty could think of no response. If Ian wanted to see Salty why had he ignored Salty's texts and calls when Salty was in Dallas less than a month earlier? When Ian was in Boston?

"Well, we're trying."

There was a long silence, and Salty could hear Ian breathing.

"Are you mad at me?" Ian said.

"No," Salty said automatically, but then he realized that he was. He'd thought right up until the minute he heard Ian's voice that he was just sad and had reached some sort of acceptance of the situation, but for some reason actually talking to Ian made the acceptance disintegrate.

And then he realized that if they were, in fact, still together, if he'd been cooking up a lot of imagined problems between them and manufactured a break-up out of his own hurt feelings, then the fact that he had hooked up with Kelly meant that he had cheated on Ian.

Salty felt himself go cold and clammy. What was he supposed to do? Should he tell Ian? Come clean? For some reason this felt completely, utterly different from cheating on his wife with Ian.

"Look, I know it's been a while and I've been busy," Ian was saying. "I'm really sorry, Salty." He paused a moment, and then said, in a very small voice, "I've missed you."

Salty began to feel a little like he needed to throw up.

"I've missed you too, babe," he said, though it sounded hollow.

"What are you wearing?" Ian joked, which was their obvious code for initiating phone sex.

"Um," Salty said, feeling a horrible mixture of guilt, confusion, and incredulity that Ian could cut off all communication for months on end and then call Salty in the middle of the night expecting that they could just pick up where they'd left off. "Can we do this later? I'm barely awake right now."

There was another pause. "Okay," Ian said curtly. "I'll try to get a hold of you later."

"Okay," Salty said. He felt awful.

Neither of them said goodbye, and then suddenly Ian said, very quietly, "I wish you'd been here with us tonight. With the team, I mean."

That was it, the last of his defensive anger crumbled, and Salty felt like a terrible person. Ian had been thinking of him as he won tonight, and all Salty did as the Angels broadcast played on the clubhouse TV had been to turn away and try to forget that he had any reason to care about what happened in the west other than that they might face whoever won in the playoffs.

"I'm sorry," Salty blurted.

Ian misunderstood. "Shut uppp," he said, laughing a little. "I know I wasn't the most understanding when you left Texas, but...I know no one could've tried harder than you did to come back from all that happened to you when you were here. I guess everything works out in the end."

"I guess," Salty echoed.

"Listen, I'll call you tomorrow. I'm just. I'm really happy right now."

"I can hear that," Salty said.

"Good luck with...you know. Wanna see you in the ALDS."

"I'd like that," Salty said, swallowing hard.

"Okay. Go back to sleep, you old geezer."

"Okay," Salty said. He paused, feeling like he needed to say something else, but also feeling like saying he loved Ian wouldn't be quite fair because of what he'd done. "I really am happy for you, baby."

"I know. 'Night, Salty," Ian said.

"'Night."

Salty hung up the phone, but he couldn't get back to sleep.

The next morning he had to catch Wake in the first game of the double header and he was abysmal, mostly because he was having a hard time focusing. He was worrying himself sick over what he'd done and how he was going to explain it to Ian, or how he could live with himself if he never told Ian at all.

It was a bad week; he was injured the very next day. Then Lavarnway came out and made himself look better than Salty had been in over a month, and of course the last game of the season turned out to be one that would go down in history, and the Red Sox were on the wrong side of it.

On each of those four bad days Ian called him at least once, but their conversations were stilted, Salty unable to loosen up and really act like nothing was wrong. Salty knew Ian could sense that something was off, but he didn't know how to fix it, especially not over the phone.

The day after the end of the season Ian called Salty and seemed to want to have it out.

"Look, I get it," Ian said. "I was a dick. I've said I'm sorry. What do you want me to do?"

Salty wanted Ian to explain why he'd just dropped Salty for no apparent reason and then expected to come back and say he was sorry once for everything to be right again, but then he didn't really feel like he had any right to demand an explanation when he himself had something pretty big to explain.

"Nothing," he said instead. "I'm not mad, Ian."

"Then why are you still being weird?" Ian said explosively. "Every time I call you you won't say a fucking word. I can't be stressing about this right now, the playoffs start tomorrow. If you have something you need to say to me get it out."

"I don't got anything to say," Salty said. "You focus on your games. Don't worry about me. Things are just weird right now in general."

Ian was silent for a while. Finally he cleared his throat. "Look, we can't pretend that things didn't change a lot after you were traded."

"No," Salty said. "We can't. But it's what you make of it. I didn't think it was that big a deal. For us."

"Not a big deal?" Ian said. "For real?"

"Ian, all I'm saying is that you gotta deal with whatever life throws at you. Things was never just gonna stay the same forever."

"I _know_ ," Ian snapped. "That's my whole point. We're on different teams. The season is a grind. I had goals, we both had goals. You know it's hard to separate personal and professional lives as a ballplayer. Your personal life pretty much _is_ your professional life."

"'Course," Salty said. "So we're on the same page about that."

"Are we?" Ian said. When he spoke again, his voice sounded very small. "Then don't hold it against me that--things just got in the way this summer and I didn't...have time."

"I just don't really know what you were tryin' to prove by not talking to me," Salty couldn't help saying.

"I wasn't trying to _prove_ anything!" Ian said, a little shrill. "I just--things got crazy, I had a lot on my mind. It was kinda...easier to just...not."

"Well, okay. I can't argue with that," Salty said heavily.

"Really? That's all your gonna say to me right now," Ian said.

"What do you want me to say, Ian?"

"I want you to just--I want things to stop being weird." There was another small pause. "I need things to be okay with us right now."

"What, because it's the playoffs and you need to bring your A game with no distractions?"

"No!" Ian said. "Dammit, Salty, stop fucking _punishing_ me."

Salty pressed his fingers to his forehead. "Baby," he said quietly, feeling horrible, "I'm not trying to punish you."

"Then what's wrong?" Ian asked plaintively. He sounded so needful, and it was killing Salty.

"Things haven't been exactly great for me lately. And now--I don't know. With the season ending the way it did, and now we're starting to pack up to get ready to go back down to Florida...I'm just having a tough time, I guess. I'm sorry."

Ian digested this information for a moment. "Okay," he said. "When all this is over I'm gonna take the kids to Florida and we can stop by and visit. And I can tell you in person why I'm sorry and try to make it up to you. How does that sound?"

Salty's heart sank. Ian was really trying to go all out here. He had never, not once, offered to visit Salty, let alone bring his kids. Salty had always had a vision of the future where they both got divorced and moved in together with all their kids in some big ranch in the country. He'd wanted to know Ian's kids and wanted Ian to meet his kids. But this was all wrong, now, and it was all Salty's fault.

"Are you sure?" Salty said.

"Yeah," Ian said. "I'll buy the tickets tonight. Just. Don't shut me out. Please. I can't--when we're fighting."

Salty didn't think it was possible to feel worse, but he did.

"I couldn't never shut you out, Ian. I love you," he said hoarsely. It was true, however shitty he felt saying it when he was keeping such a big secret.

"Love you too," Ian mumbled quietly. He'd always been shy about saying it even when there was no one around to hear, so Salty knew that saying it now meant a lot.

How could Salty have been so stupid and selfish and impulsive? He _knew_ Ian cared about him, and he'd known it all along. He'd just felt so goddamn sorry for himself, which was pretty much the most pathetic thing ever. Maybe he just got tired of being patient with Ian, since that's how it had been from the very beginning, with Ian so skittish about acknowledging what he wanted and always so afraid of getting caught. It had been hard on Salty, dealing with Ian's constant need for validation but then also, as a counterpoint, his freak-outs when he felt like he was in danger of getting in too deep and being unable to extricate himself from Salty. It had been bad enough toward the end of Salty's time with the Rangers that Ian had pretty much pretended like he didn't even like Salty to his friends and their teammates. For the most part Salty didn't mind because he wasn't with the team anyway, but sometimes Ian said and did hurtful things right to Salty's face, all under the guise of not arousing suspicion.

Salty knew where Ian's heart was. He should've just let it go and waited for Ian to work through whatever it had been that drove him to cut Salty off for a while. They'd weathered periods like that before. What was it about this summer that had made it seem so intolerable to Salty? Maybe actual geographic distance had gotten to him more than he wanted to acknowledge. Maybe it was the stress of Boston, the most important year of his career to date, being worried about connecting with his teammates and fan base and all the new stuff that was attendant to that. Maybe it was the stress of having a new baby at home and the fact that he and Ashley barely spoke anymore, and when they did she would make comments that implied she knew what Salty was doing and Salty didn't know whether to pretend like he didn't understand or to face it head on. Maybe it was anger at Ian for abandoning him after Salty had put his relationship with his wife and kids on the line to be with Ian.

But those were just excuses. If there was one thing you never did as an athlete, in professional or personal life, it was make excuses. The fact was that Salty had cheated on Ian and he was feeling unable to live with the guilt.

Finally he decided to text Kelly about it.

 _I need some advice about what we did_ , he wrote. _How do I explain it to him?_

It was several hours before Kelly replied. _He knows?_

 _No_ , Salty wrote, _but I think I should tell him._

Kelly's next reply came more promptly. _Why?_

Salty was a little flummoxed at Kelly's implication that there was no discernible reason to tell Ian. _Its eating me up and I feel so guilty_ , he replied finally. _We weren't done like I thought._

It was another few minutes before Kelly responded again. _Do you think he would care?_

Salty didn't have to ponder the answer to that question. _Yeah._

 _If you really can't live with yourself you should tell him_ , Kelly wrote back. _But you have to be prepared for the consequences. I'm sorry. I shouldn't have let it go so far._

 _No it's my fault_ , Salty replied. _You didnt do nothing but give me what I wanted._

 _Good luck_ , Kelly wrote.

The problem was that Salty couldn't really think of a good time to tell Ian. He certainly couldn't do it during the playoffs; Ian called after every victory and Salty could hear his giddiness over the phone. They were going all the way, Ian said, and this time they were gonna win it. But he also couldn't wait until Ian made the big gesture of bringing his kids to Florida because he believed he had something to make up for, either.

The Rangers won the ALDS, and then the ALCS. Ian was ecstatic. "This is our year," he said to Salty on the phone. "This is it. We're gonna do it."

"Yeah," Salty said, unable to help smiling at Ian's infectious happiness. "You've been amazing."

Ian had to give Salty the play-by-play, even knowing that Salty had watched it himself on TV, and Salty listened patiently, glad to hear Ian so excited.

"Wish you could come see us," Ian said several minutes later, sounding wistful.

"I would if I could," Salty said.

"I know, but. I'd sleep better if you were here," Ian said.

"Ian," Salty said.

"Yeah, yeah, I know," Ian said, but he sounded sad.

Salty followed the World Series closely, and he thought long and hard before deciding, the day before Game 6, to surprise Ian by flying to St. Louis. He was pretty sure the Rangers would win Game 6 and he could be there to support Ian through that, and then maybe once that was out of the way Salty could come clean to Ian. Maybe, Salty thought naively, the fact that he had a ring and Salty had flown all the way to St. Louis for it would soften the blow, make him more understanding, something like that.

It took some careful maneuvering, but Salty told Ashley he was going on a hunting trip with some friends and then paid cash for a plane ticket to St. Louis.

Ian was already there, of course, but his wife and parents were, too. Salty knew Ian wouldn't have much time for him, but he knew his presence there was really all that mattered. He also had to try to keep himself from being seen in a town full of baseball people, which would be difficult but not impossible, since he planned on spending most of his time in a hotel room, watching the game on TV.

He texted Ian when he got there.

 _I'm in St. Louis_ , he said, unable to think of a better way to say it.

Ian's response was almost immediate. _ARE YOU KIDDING_ , he said. And then, mere moments later, _BECAUSE IF YOU ARE ITS NOT FUNNY_.

Salty smiled down at his phone. There was really nothing he enjoyed more than making Ian happy. _Not kidding. Know your busy just here to support u_.

 _I gotta finish up press and go to dinner. Maybe can get away tonite. Where you at_.

Salty texted Ian his hotel and room number and then ordered room service, settling in to wait for Ian.

They had sex that night, and even though Salty was still deep in the throes of an all-consuming guilt, he had to admit that it all faded away when he was fucking Ian. He'd forgotten how it could really be; he realized. It had been good with Kelly, a kind of physical relief with someone he trusted, but it meant so much more with Ian. Feeling the way Ian clung to him, the way Ian needed him, the way he seemed to forget everything but Salty when they were alone together like this all reminded Salty of how important this was and how much he really stood to lose by having jeopardized what they had together. It was the stuff of legends, Salty thought helplessly as he held Ian afterward, the kind of thing people wrote songs or books about, the kind of thing that most people didn't ever get to have in their whole lives.

Ian had to leave shortly after, but he was so happy, so optimistic, kissing Salty over and over and unwilling to let go of him. After he finally tore himself away, Salty went back to the bed and sank down on it heavily, turning over and putting his face into the pillow, trying desperately to hold on to the faint smell of Ian in the sheets.

Watching the game the next day was pretty excruciating. It was long and devastating, and Salty had enough ties with the team to feel bad for more than just Ian. After it was over, he texted Ian with encouraging words but didn't expect to get much more than a text in return. Instead, Ian showed up at his hotel room door again.

"Couldn't fuckin' go back to sleep with Tess," he said, pushing past Salty.

Salty shut the door behind Ian and followed him in, and then Ian was in his arms, tucking his face in Salty's neck and clinging.

"You wanna talk about it?" Salty said quietly, running his hands over Ian's back.

"No," Ian said, his voice muffled. "Just gotta go back and do it right tomorrow."

But he didn't sound optimistic.

They fell asleep on top of the covers, still clothed, but something woke Salty a little while later. He opened his eyes. The room was dark and Ian wasn't beside him.

Salty turned around and saw Ian sitting on a chair, his head in his hands.

"What're you doing?" Salty said thickly, sitting up.

Ian raised his head and stared at Salty.

"Who's KJ?" he said.

Salty's heart felt like it skipped a beat. "What?"

"KJ," Ian repeated. "In your phone. Who is that?"

"Ian," Salty said, starting up from the bed.

"No," Ian said throbbingly. "I want you to just fucking answer the question."

There was a tense silence as Salty tried to think of whether or not answering the question was a good idea. "Did he text me or something?" Salty said finally.

"So it is a guy. Perfect," Ian said. "You cheated on me with another dude." He sounded hoarse, like he was near tears.

"Ian," Salty said again. "I didn't--"

"Just. Don't," Ian said. "I saw in your phone. Wondering if you should tell me. Taking _his_ advice. I can't believe you. I turn my back for one second--"

"I didn't want you to find out like this," Salty said quietly. "I was gonna tell you--"

"When? After you got a few more good fucks out of me? After I divorced my wife and put my family through hell to be with you? I can't believe you had me--you really had me going, there. I've been trying all year to think of how I could make it all work and still be--still do what--but what am I talking about, you don't care."

"Ian, I care so much--"

"Shut up!" Ian interrupted, raising his voice suddenly. "You have no idea what I've put on the line for you, do you? And you couldn't even have the decency to just be a man about it, come to me and tell me to my face you were over it."

"Because that's not what I wanted," Salty said.

Ian made an incoherent noise of rage that seemed to come from deep in his throat, and he sprang up, picking up the flower arrangement on the table and slamming it against the wall, where the vase shattered and made a terrible crashing noise.

"I don't give a FUCK what you want," he said venomously. "You can fucking go _fuck_ yourself for all I care, because you are pathetic and I can't believe I've wasted so much of myself on you."

"Ian, I'm sorry," Salty said desperately, moving toward Ian, but stopping when he was checked by Ian's furious gaze, his eyes seeming to glitter with anger even in the darkness. "It's not what you think." The words sounded hollow, and Salty was almost embarrassed to have even said them except that it was true: He didn't know how to explain, but he wanted to believe that if only Ian heard his side of it it wouldn't look so much like cheating, it wouldn't look quite so bad.

"Oh, it's not?" Ian said bitterly. "It's not that you fucked another guy and then lied about it and strung me along? It's not like that?"

"When it happened--I thought you were done with me," Salty said, but it was such a terrible excuse he could barely look Ian in the face.

Ian was silent. That probably wasn't a good sign, but Salty decided he had to make the most of the space afforded in the conversation.

"It was stupid. I just--it was on the road. I was tired and all by myself. He--This guy was the first person to even know about me way back, and the only one who bothered to give me any advice at the time, when I was young and didn't know how to deal with it. And then I saw him again for the first time in a while and--I was so lonely, Ian. You weren't talking to me and I thought you were done, and he was just--there, and it was just once and it didn't mean nothing but that I was in a tough place and made a stupid mistake."

Still Ian didn't say anything.

"You have to believe me. I felt awful after and I missed you so much. And then you called and I didn't know what to say or how to tell you. I was glad to talk to you, but knowing what I did--and you kept apologizing and I knew I had no right to hear you apologizing when I messed up so bad. But I just couldn't tell you. I wanted to but--I didn't know how, and I didn't want to risk losing you after I'd just gotten you back. So I asked K--KJ what I should do just because he's--he knows what it's like."

Ian laughed mirthlessly. "He knows what it's like," he repeated. "Well, perfect. This guy must be really fucking incredible. Rebound fuck, relationship counselor. I'm glad he was worth it for you. Because you've ruined this. You know that, right? You've fucking ruined it because of that guy. I'm glad to hear he's so fucking understanding and wise."

Every word of Ian's felt a little like being stabbed, but Salty knew there was nothing he could say to defend himself.

"Do I know him?" Ian demanded.

Salty grimaced.

"Okay, you won't tell me? I bet I can figure it out."

"Ian--don't," Salty said.

"No, really, I mean, I obviously need to prove to you that I'm not a fucking idiot. I'm actually pretty _fucking_ smart, contrary to what you must've thought when you decided you could get away with this."

"I know you're smart," Salty said uselessly. "I know that."

"Let's see, 'He knows what it's like.' That must mean he's either a fucking cheater or a baseball player. Maybe both. Am I hot or cold?"

"Ian, for fuck's sake," Salty said.

"Let's go with both," Ian went on inexorably. "Then there's what you said about this guy being the first to know about you. So he had to be on the Braves, right? Your favorite team ever that you wish you'd never left to come to a shit hole like Dallas, the place you couldn't wait to get away from?"

"Don't be like this," Salty said.

"You don't get to fucking tell me how to be!"

"Just--please calm down," Salty said.

"If you saw him on the road he's in the American League now. So we're looking for a guy who was on the Braves in '07, who's in the American League right now, and has the initials KJ. Should I just go down every AL team roster until I find him?"

"Stop it, Ian," Salty said, starting to feel cornered by Ian's nastiness.

"This is the worst night of my life," Ian said, and Salty could see he was crying, then.

He reached out to Ian, wanting to hug him, because he had no words and felt like the only thing he could do, the only way he could convey his remorse and willingness to do anything Ian wanted was to touch him, somehow, but he couldn't even get close before Ian angrily batted him away.

"Don't fucking touch me," he screamed, his face crumpled and ugly. He picked up his own phone and moved toward the door. Then, before he opened it, he turned back. "I knew something was wrong. I knew it that night I called you. You suck at everything else, so I don't know what gave you the idea that you'd be good at lying," he said.

And then he left, the door slamming behind him.

Salty couldn't think of anything to do but sit down on the bed, staring at the floor, and try desperately to think of some way he could put everything right.

He didn't sleep at all for the rest of the night. Going over the situation was difficult for many reasons. Relationships were so complicated anyway, and when Salty began to think about all the added complications of having a family and a wife as well as a secret gay relationship, and then a one-night stand with another guy in the same line of work, he wondered how he could've ever thought that any one person could juggle all of that and prevent it all from coming crashing down.

He remembered when he felt lucky to have it all, like he got to have more out of life than anyone else. Back then it had felt like a blessing, and now he knew, of course, that he was just too fucking stupid and naive to realize he'd bitten off way more than he could chew.

The next day, before he left the hotel, he saw Ian on TV. He had dark circles under his eyes and looked defeated but stoic. Salty prayed hard that the Rangers would win as he sat on the airplane that would take him back to Florida and waited for takeoff. Then at least Ian would have that, which was something he'd always wanted, long before he even met Salty.

When he got home and opened the door the first thing he heard was the baby crying loudly. He went into the living room and saw Sidney and Hunter watching TV while Ashley held Sloane, walking back and forth in front of the bay windows, her face stony.

When she saw Salty walk in, she wordlessly walked over to him and handed Sloane over and then went upstairs. Salty heard a door shut.

Salty tried his best to soothe Sloane, bouncing her slightly and walking up and down the room like Ashley had been doing. Soon she seemed to have exhausted herself, the choking little sobs coming from her throat dying down, and Salty tilted her back to wipe her tears away. She looked so miserable.

"You're alright," he said to her quietly, kissing her forehead. "Daddy's here."

She fell asleep soon after, and Salty sat down on the couch next to Sidney and Hunter. Hunter didn't look over, but Sidney tore her eyes away from the TV and stared up at him silently.

"C'mere," Salty said.

Sidney climbed over Hunter and crawled up into Salty's lap, and Salty held Sloane in one arm and Sidney in the other.

As he sat there holding his children he began to cry, unable to stop himself. His shoulders shook and his vision blurred.

"Why are you crying, Daddy?" Sidney said, tugging at the front of his shirt.

"What?" Salty said, reaching up to wipe at his eyes so he could look down at her. "It's nothing, baby. I'm sorry."

Hunter became aware that something was happening on the other end of the couch, and she took her thumb out of her mouth, crawling over to join her sisters on Salty's lap.

"Don't cry, Daddy," she said, trying to worm her way between Salty and Sidney.

"I'm okay," Salty said. He sighed, looking down at into their wide-eyed, concerned faces. "Daddy just messed up real bad." He squeezed all three of them a little closer, grateful that for now, at least, there were people he loved who hadn't been disappointed by him. "But I'll figure it out," he said, stroking their blond, curly hair. "Don't worry."

They leaned against him, turning their attention back to the TV, and Salty was comforted by the trusting weight of their small bodies against his chest.

*

Ian always told himself that everyone had regrets. You weren't really alive if you didn't wish you could go back and change something, right? Sure, you could be glad for what you learned from some mistakes, and even feel lucky that you had made others, but there would be at least a few that you could never quite get over.

It wasn't just a few for him, though. It was one big one and then a lot of the stupid ones that he let himself make after the big one because he hadn't recognized that the big one was a mistake at all.

Walking out of that hotel room in St. Louis and away from Salty that horrible night hadn't been a mistake. He'd been angry and nasty, and justifiably so, he maintained. Salty had deserved everything Ian had dished out that night, and leaving had probably cut it off before he said anything that he couldn't apologize or make up for later.

No, the mistake had been to ignore Salty's every call, text, e-mail, and message after that. Sometimes Ian blamed the World Series loss. It had been the mother of all heartbreakers, a loss that most everyone in baseball could sympathize with, if not feel personally. Ian had a lot of practice in implementing the kind of sports psychology techniques that allowed him to put tough losses behind him and focus on what was ahead, but that took all of his energy. He knew he had to move on from that, but he had no tools to move on from what he viewed as Salty's betrayal.

In the months that had followed, he had spent a lot of time brooding over what Salty had done and what it really meant. What had made him get up after Salty was asleep and pick up his phone? If he'd never found out, would it have mattered?

One morning in early January after it happened, when he'd been depressed and baseball seemed so far off, he'd spent a whole morning watching _Cheaters_ , which was apparently some terrible show in which people hired an investigative team to find out whether their spouses were cheating on them. There was always an angry confrontation and then a lurid post-mortem of the relationship. Ian watched three hours of this, reliving in his own mind the horrible moment of realization and trying, with no more success than the unfortunate subjects of the show, to understand the mindset of a cheater and why some of them seemed to have no idea how easily they could be caught.

Maybe some part of Salty had wanted to be caught, Ian thought. He remembered the conversations they'd had in the weeks leading up to that night--the way Salty had seemed so uncomfortable and strangely reticent. What Ian had thought at the time was distance he later realized was guilt. Salty could never hide things very well and if Ian hadn't had so much to feel guilty about himself he probably could have gotten it out of Salty much quicker.

The text message conversation Ian had read between Salty and the mysterious KJ (Ian had since deduced that it must've been Kelly Johnson, and he had to admit to having to suppress a strong desire to spike Kelly every time he slid into second base when Kelly was there) was pretty much burned into his brain. Ian had read it over and over and over that night before Salty woke up, alternating between trying to find any other possible explanation for it besides the obvious and feeling sick about what was plain to see. But later, when he had some distance from the situation, he thought more about what Salty had actually said in it. _We weren't done like I thought,_ he'd written. And when Kelly had asked Salty if he thought Ian would care, Salty had said, _Yeah._ He'd wanted to tell Ian even as he acknowledged how it was likely to ruin their relationship.

Many times Ian thought of what would've happened had he not followed that strange, self-destructive instinct to look through Salty's phone. Would Salty have told him? How would Ian have taken it if Salty had come forward himself, rather than leaving Ian to find out on his own? Now he would never know. Ian would never know if Salty would've confessed. All he knew was that he had been unable to bear the idea of Salty not only fucking someone else, but keeping it a secret from Ian and even discussing Ian with the other person.

The part of the conversation that really got to Ian, though, and kept him from ever answering Salty's calls again, was the part at the end when Salty said, _You didn't do nothing but give me what I wanted._

That was the knife that kept twisting in Ian's insides. It hadn't been just a moment of weakness, a coincidental meeting, a little slip-up, maybe out of drunkenness or misdirected lust. It had been something Salty _wanted_.

Ian understood wanting other people. He wondered about what it would be like to fuck lots of other guys. But he'd never actually done it. Salty had done it, and for a long time Ian couldn't get past the fact that Salty hadn't been able to stop himself. It wasn't until later that he acknowledged that really the only reason he hadn't cheated on Salty on one of the many occasions when he was afraid he was getting too wrapped up in their relationship and wanted to act out to prove he could live without it was because he'd been afraid of being outed. In the end, his righteous anger was held up only by fear.

There were also his own actions that summer to contend with. He couldn't admit this to Salty at the time, but he had very purposely avoided calling Salty or answering his calls and texts for most of the year. He'd been trying to establish some distance, mostly because of wanting to really concentrate on baseball and be present for the birth of his son. There was also a part of him that was trying to gauge what Salty really meant to him and what kind of future they had. As Ian chased the division title with the Rangers and spent as much time as he could with his family, he wondered how much of it he was willing to risk losing for the sake of a future with Salty.

It was hard later to remember exactly why ignoring Salty had been necessary in accomplishing these things, but at the time he'd been pretty firm with it. He realized later that he'd always kind of counted on Salty being there, ready and waiting, whenever Ian decided he was all in, and most of the 2011 season had been devoted to Ian pondering this very question and leaving Salty out to dry while Ian decided whether or not being with Salty was really something he wanted.

Salty had always been so patient, so solid, so loyal, to the point where Ian not only forgot how young Salty really was but also the fact that Salty had any needs at all when it came to their relationship. It sounded so stupid in retrospect to think this way, but Ian hadn't really devoted any time at all to considering what the consequences of cutting Salty off would be. He'd done it in shorter increments before, and Salty had always been there in the end, ready to receive Ian in his big arms, smiling and without accusation or recrimination. Ian had thought it would be the same at the end of that summer.

And it had been, really, if Ian was honest. He'd abandoned Salty for many months, during what he knew was probably one of the most difficult years of Salty's career in terms of adjustment and pressure. Then when they'd clinched the division, he'd realized how empty it felt unless he could share it with Salty, and how, apart from his children, there really wasn't much in his life that meant anything except for when Salty was around. So he'd called Salty, a little drunk but a lot sincere, and tried to tell him that he was ready, in his own vague way.

Salty had sounded stunned and troubled during that phone call, Ian remembered. But apart from what Ian later realized was his guilt, he'd been trying so hard to be there for Ian and pick up where they'd left off. He'd even come all the way to St. Louis for Game 6 to support Ian, and Ian had felt like a complete dick for having treated Salty so cavalierly in the months before.

But pondering whether or not his anger and unwillingness to listen to Salty's justifications were warranted did not prevent the visceral feelings of hurt and betrayal. Sometimes Ian nearly broke down, listening to his phone messages.

"Ian," they would begin, and there would be a long pause before Salty would breathe heavily and continue. "I know I don't got any right, but I wish you would hear me out." Sometimes Salty would go on to apologize, sometimes he would try to explain, and sometimes he would just sit there silently, as if trying to come up with the right words but being unable to, and then hanging up.

Ian's finger would hover over Salty's name in his phone, so close to calling him back, but then he would angrily dump the phone back in his pocket, or throw it into his gym bag or slide it across the table away from him, unable to get past the fact that Salty had actually _had sex_ with another guy and then kept it a secret. Ian didn't know why pity for Salty and his bottomless remorse should force Ian to get over it. Truthfully Ian didn't want to get over it, and as long as Salty kept calling Ian could be sure that his anger mattered to someone, since he had to hide it from everyone else.

Eventually, of course, the calls stopped. Salty had said they would in his last phone message, but Ian hadn't really believed it. "I ain't gonna bother you anymore after this," Salty said. "You know where to find me. I wish I hadn't done what I did but I can't change the past. I love you and I'm sorry. I hope you can find it in you to forgive me someday."

Ian waited for another call for months after that, but it never came. In a fit of something--anger, revenge, self-destructiveness--he went on what could only be described as a sex binge. He answered a couple of ads for anonymous gay hookups on Craigslist and started going to a very seedy gay club, the kind with dull red lighting and back rooms full of frat dicks getting their asses reamed while they were high on E. Josh Hamilton had what became a very notorious relapse, but before it went public he was out with Ian, both of them high and drunk, and Josh had let Ian suck his dick in the alley behind a dive bar. Ian didn't even bother to pretend he wasn't thinking of Salty when he looked up at Josh's silhouette in the darkness, his broad chest and his curly hair. It was hard to keep up the pretense when Josh shoved Ian's head away after he came, and Ian nearly started sobbing uncontrollably when he choked a little on the cum in his mouth, remembering the way Salty used to stroke his cheek gratefully and kiss him after. It was all so sordid and terrible, now, and he knew he needed to stop, that he couldn't keep on with the anonymous encounters and drunken hookups. But when he was feeling especially depressed and self-loathing, he would go out late at night and tell himself he would just let something happen. That never meant anything good, but answering Josh's calls was always easier than calling Salty back.

He saw Salty on the road during the season, of course. Sometimes when Ian went up to bat and Salty was at the plate he could feel Salty's eyes on him and he almost wanted to turn around and knock Salty down, hold him down on the ground and beat at his shoulders and demand to know why Salty had ruined everything, why, when he knew Ian and he knew all of Ian's weaknesses and fears, he had had to do what he did. He wanted to scream at Salty that he was supposed to have been the better man, but mostly he just wanted to collapse on Salty's chest and cry and feel Salty close his arms around him and say he was sorry and know that Ian was too, he was so sorry.

About a year and a half after the night Ian left Salty in the hotel room, news of Salty's divorce went public, and it was for some reason a big deal. Not, like, news headlines big, but the kind of thing that guys in the clubhouse talked about. "Did you hear?" they would say, mostly because the story of Salty's marriage to his high school teacher was still the thing he was most famous for, since he'd never really stood out much as a baseball player.

Ian heard about it during spring training, not long after the incident with Josh, which had happened during the offseason. It was at about that moment when Ian began to acknowledge that he'd handled everything really badly. He'd come so close to ending his marriage before, when Salty had been waiting on the other side of it, but when things had gone wrong with Salty Ian had vowed he was never going to take that risk and willingly subject himself and his family to all of that. So he continued to lie to his wife, even though he was pretty sure she knew exactly what he was doing and probably had all along, but as long as she apparently wasn't going to turn it into a thing he figured he shouldn't care either. They tried to keep it civil in front of the kids but they barely spoke to each other.

It took almost another year after hearing about Salty's divorce for Ian to get up the courage to clean up his act and bring up divorce with his wife, and that began a pretty bitter and intensely uncomfortable offseason full of mediation hearings and lawyer meetings. Rian was old enough to be frustrated and sad, but Jack was mostly just confused. When it came down to it, with Tess keeping the house and Ian being gone most of the time, their lives weren't going to change much, Ian reflected, feeling shitty about pretty much everything. He knew he should try harder and do better for them, but he also didn't feel like he was capable of it when he was so fucking miserable himself.

He spent his off-days with them and then had his mom help him during the offseason so he could take them for week-long periods, but it was exhausting and he realized they were learning to not have him around. Tess began dating someone else, a mortgage broker or something, and he moved into the house Ian had bought and paid for and started being a better dad to Ian's kids than Ian. He made sly comments about Ian having fun "on the road," winking and laughing boisterously, and Ian had to swallow his retorts and be grateful that Tess hadn't let on to him the real reason for the death of their marriage, though it was probably as much for her own sake as his.

Ian found himself wondering a lot about how Salty's divorce had gone. He didn't really know anyone who was close friends with Salty; he knew Mike kept in touch with Salty but that just meant Salty was on their Christmas card list and got the occasional text of congratulations or condolences when something happened in Salty's career.

And then, in January of 2015, the year after the Astros moved to Arizona for Spring Training, Salty signed a one-year contract to play for them.

Ian told himself he wasn't too worried about seeing Salty again. He wasn't even hoping he would. He told himself he felt nothing, that it had been over three years, and that even though he'd sometimes be unable to sleep at night going over the events of that season and the way it had ended, he could always shrug it off the next day and feel as if he'd gotten over it.

They didn't even see each other on the field for the first few weeks of Spring Training, since neither of them had to travel with the team for road games. No, the first time Ian actually saw Salty was at Jeff Francoeur's barbecue.

It was something Frenchy had been doing every year since he'd first signed with the Royals in 2011. He was with the Cubs, now, having managed to stay just respectable enough to get work year after year--a lovable failure, his personality making up the difference in his playing ability. He was still the most likable guy in baseball and had really grown into his role as a veteran in the game, the kind of player older guys liked and younger guys wanted to be noticed by, even if no one was impressed with him.

Ian mostly went because he felt like he should, but Frenchy was a good guy, and Ian thought he could enjoy himself if he got a few beers down first, until he saw Salty walk in.

Seeing Salty at the ballpark when he expected it was one thing, but seeing him when Ian hadn't done the necessary mental preparation was like being punched in the gut. It was the first time Ian had seen Salty since the summer before, and that first look at him after a long period always sort of stole Ian's breath, the reminder that he continued to exist as a living, breathing person and not just as a construct of Ian's mind always strangely agonizing.

Salty looked thin, at least for this time of year, and he had a dark green cap on with the bill pulled low over his eyes, but he was wearing a bright yellow shirt with the sleeves cut off, all his tattoos and his farmer tan on display, camo shorts, and black flip flops. He looked so fucking redneck, Ian thought miserably, and it was ridiculously, improbably hot. The only thing he had on that even remotely suggested he'd just signed a contract that would pay him $4 million for the year was the expensive watch he was sporting on his left wrist.

Ian watched Jeff walk over to Salty and give him a brief hug, and then Ian quickly looked away, not wanting to accidentally make eye contact too soon.

What was Salty even doing here, Ian thought frantically as he tried to concentrate on whatever it was Eric Hosmer was talking about. Luckily Mike Olt was laughing in all the right places, leaving Ian free from the demands of polite conversation so that he could ponder why Salty was suddenly attending social functions. He never used to, either because he was never invited or because he had family obligations, and Ian could pretty much count on never running into him at parties thrown by baseball people, even informal ones like this.

The next time Ian worked up the courage to look over, Salty was rifling through the cooler trying to find himself a beer. Then something else caught Ian's eye, and he turned to the patio doorway to see Kelly Johnson stepping out of it.

Ian felt something like an adrenaline rush in spite of himself. He felt like his face was probably red, and the hand holding his beer bottle was almost noticeably shaky.

He'd forgotten that Kelly had signed as utility infielder for the Rockies, his first year of going into Spring Training without a definite starting position. He didn't look old, though, Ian thought unhappily. Ian himself was still starting second baseman for the Rangers, and even though he was still putting up good numbers, he felt old--slower, stiffer, heavier. Kelly had never been exactly fast but he didn't look slow or stiff or heavy. He was very tall and narrow, almost elegant. Ian felt like a dumpy old man, standing off to the side and clutching his beer, his face sunburned and his lips chapped and cracked, while Kelly looked sleek and golden, his hair artfully tousled and his clothes understated but obviously expensive.

No wonder Salty had been so eager to bang him when he got the chance. It was probably like having sex with a supermodel after being used to the girl from high school who was ugly and overweight but comfortably familiar.

Ian tried not to look but he couldn't help it when he saw Kelly go up to Salty and they hugged each other. He wondered if either of them had seen him. If they had they gave no sign of feeling anywhere close to as awkward as Ian felt seeing them both. They'd probably both forgotten about him completely. Maybe they were secretly hooking up regularly even now. Maybe Kelly was the reason Salty had gotten a divorce even after Ian left.

They certainly looked familiar with each other, Ian thought sullenly, taking another long swig of his beer. Kelly was laughing at whatever Salty was saying while Salty rummaged around in the cooler again and plucked a bottle out of the ice. Then Salty opened the bottle for Kelly as if Kelly were a girl who couldn't untwist the cap for himself for fear of breaking a nail or whatever, handing it over, and they kept talking, Salty making lots of hand gestures and Kelly smiling lopsidedly as he eyed Salty out of the corner of his eye. Disgusting, Ian thought, the way he was so obviously flirting with Salty but trying to make it look like he wasn't.

And then Kelly said something, his lips barely moving, and Salty beamed down at Kelly with the kind of generous intimacy he used to evince when he smiled at Ian, and Ian's heart sank like a stone.

 _Pull yourself together_ , Ian thought angrily. His head was hurting and maybe it was making him more irritable than he would've been otherwise. He should've had a handle on this years ago. Thinking he just needed to get a little more drunk, he went to take another drink of his beer and then realized it was empty.

Well, perfect. He'd just have to go over by the cooler and get another one.

He marched over to where Salty and Kelly were standing by the cooler, and they both looked over, noticing him for the first time.

"Well, this is fucking awkward," Ian said, with more force than he intended.

"Ian," Salty said, his smile fading as he paled under his tan.

"I'm just here to get another beer," Ian nearly bellowed. Why was he being so loud and embarrassing? "'Scuse me," he said, and reached right between them to get at the cooler.

Kelly drew his beer back to get out of Ian's way. "Um, hi, Ian," he said. "Nice to see you."

"Are you fucking kidding me?" Ian said before he could stop himself, turning to stare at Kelly, and then turning back to Salty. "Is he kidding?"

"Ian," Salty said again, but he sounded a little panicked this time.

"I'd say it's nice to see you too, but...it's not." _Wow_ , Ian reflected, wanting to stuff his fist in his mouth, _brilliant comeback. Really scathing. Kelly will be stinging for weeks from the heat of that burn._

He glared at Kelly, embarrassed and irrationally angry. Kelly looked confused. And then his eyes widened a little bit and he raised his eyes to Salty.

"Oh, God," he said. "You--" His eyes darted over to the other people standing around, and then he bit his lip.

"What, are we all supposed to act like we don't feel really uncomfortable right now?" Ian said. "Fuck that. I'm not good at these games. I just came over to get a beer. Cheers." He flipped the cap at Salty's chest, watching it bounce off, and then took a drink.

Kelly still looked dubious and Salty had that wide, doe-eyed look of hurt.

"Oh, don't fucking worry," Ian said sourly, feeling sorry for how wary they obviously were of him even as he kind of wanted to punch both of them in the face. "I'm not going to make a big scene in front of everyone. You guys do whatever the fuck you want." He gave them both one last look of defiant contempt and walked away.

He went back to talking to some of the younger guys and then tried to unobtrusively look back at Salty and Kelly. They were both watching him, Kelly looking bemused and Salty grimacing.

 _Fine_ , Ian thought. _Good. I hope I ruined their evening._ And then he felt like a loser for being so obvious about the fact that he was still upset about what happened a million years ago.

For the rest of the night he threw himself into the party, drinking heavily and not really eating enough to balance it out. His head started to pound more and more, and he knew he couldn't get really wasted, since this wasn't really that kind of party, but he got enough of a buzz on to be a little obnoxious and keep up with the younger guys, who were more drunk and more fun than the older guys. A big group of the older guys were standing around with a few of the wives talking about private schools and who had the best accountants.

A few times Ian looked for Salty and saw him sitting by himself, staring off into space, but Kelly was never with him.

Ian knew he was probably making a bit of a spectacle of himself but he didn't really care. Even Frenchy, first to join in any good fun, told him, albeit laughingly, to slow down a bit. Ian ignored him, getting really competitive over stupid shit like air hockey and Mortal Kombat and then being the first to jump into the pool fully clothed.

A few of the other guys followed and they had a Chicken Fight, Ian sitting on Eric Hosmer's shoulders. They eventually won, knocking Craig Kimbrel off of Mike Montgomery's shoulders. But by then Ian's blood alcohol level must have passed that point of no return, where everything started to get shaky and miserable. Ian lifted himself out of the pool, feeling old and pathetic in the cold night air of the desert, while the younger guys kept splashing water everywhere like they were teenagers, and made his way toward the house to dry off and get warm.

He picked up a towel and opened the patio door, walking past a small group of wives chatting on the couch in the living room, and went back toward the bathroom, dripping on the tiles and carpet all the way. When he got there he shut the door, shivering and holding the towel around himself as he sat down on the toilet seat cover.

What was he doing? He sniffed loudly, feeling sorry for himself. His throat was sore, probably from getting water up his nose, and his headache was not getting any better. He leaned his head against the wall and closed his eyes, regretting yet again all the things he'd done wrong because he was too proud and too scared.

He was almost 33 years old and still insecure enough to need to act like he was having such a great time in front of people who had wronged him. He should've just left quietly when he saw Salty and Kelly together. They were probably gonna get gay married and come out as the first openly gay couple in baseball and everyone would think they were so brave and great and they'd live happily ever after in, like, San Francisco, or wherever it was old queens liked to retire. It was the life that Ian had secretly imagined for himself and Salty, though he had always known it would never happen and he never would've admitted it to anyone, not even to Salty when they were still together. The world was changing a lot, after all. Just three years ago he'd been afraid to even be seen riding as a passenger in Salty's car, and now mainstream sports was probably ready or almost ready for openly gay athletes.

But now Salty was going to really do it with Kelly, Ian thought deliriously. And all because Ian had been too proud to listen to Salty when Salty wanted to apologize.

Ian was so absorbed in imagining Salty and Kelly's future as the poster couple for gay athletes that he was startled to realize someone had been knocking at the door several times.

"Yeah, I'm almost done," Ian grunted.

"Is that you, Ian?"

It was Salty, Ian realized.

"Can I come in for a second?"

Ian thought frantically, his heart starting to pound again. "Uh."

"I just want to talk to you for a second," Salty said, his voice so quiet on the other side of the door that Ian almost couldn't catch the words.

Ian couldn't find his own voice. He didn't know whether he was brave enough to hear what Salty might say, but he didn't want to blow a real chance at talking to him again, either.

There was a long pause, and Ian knew he had to speak, afraid that Salty had gone away when Ian didn't answer, but then Ian saw the door handle turn slowly, haltingly, as if Salty thought he was opening the cage of a feral beast that had quieted only for a moment.

The door opened and Salty's head appeared.

Ian could only look up at him helplessly, still shivering a little under the towel, not knowing what to expect or what to say.

Salty came in all the way and shut the door behind him.

"You look like a drowned rat," he said, smiling slightly.

"I know," Ian said. The words rattled in his head a little bit, the alcohol and his headache combining to make everything seem a little delayed.

Salty moved over to sit on the edge of the tub, right across from Ian.

Ian sniffed again, trying to clear his nose, which was burning slightly from the chlorine. He wiped at the water still dripping down his face with his sleeve.

"Didn't think you came to these parties," he said finally, after the silence drew out a little.

"Well, it's my first time back in the Cactus League since...well, since I was with Texas." Salty paused for a moment, and Ian wondered whether Salty too was immediately flooded with memories of that last Spring Training they'd spent together before Salty was traded. It had been the best time of Ian's life.

"And I've been trying to get out more," Salty was saying, while Ian was losing himself in nostalgia.

Ian forced himself to stop thinking about the irretrievable past. "Since you got divorced, you mean?"

"Yeah." Salty cleared his throat. "I heard you got a divorce, too."

"Figured it was time," Ian said. "Since I know how it feels when someone's fucking around on you." Immediately after saying it he regretted it. He hadn't even meant to turn it into a dig at Salty, realizing that playing the bitter ex wasn't really a role he relished, when it came down to it. He wished he was sober. And that he wasn't starting to ache all over. Maybe he'd pushed it too hard in his workout that day.

Salty hung his head, not saying anything.

"I should shut up," Ian said. "I'm really drunk right now. This probably isn't the best time to have a conversation with me."

Salty looked up at him. He looked sad, but then he always looked a little sad if you could see his eyes, Ian thought feverishly. They were big, open, almost regretful, as if Salty knew something wonderful and good and was tortured by his inability to communicate it to everyone else.

"I just wanted you to know," Salty said, "back there, with Kelly--he never knew it was you."

"What do you mean?" Ian said.

"I mean I never told him it was you I was with when we..."

"Oh," Ian said, feeling even more embarrassed. He remembered how rude he'd been, and Kelly's look of confusion. "Well, sorry." He'd always pictured Salty pouring out every bit of history between them to Kelly, cataloguing every way in which Ian had mistreated him, describing in detail all of Ian's denial and fear.

"What did you think, Ian," Salty said heavily, "that we sat around talking shit about you before fucking each other's brains out--"

It was exactly what Ian thought, but he didn't want to admit it to Salty. "Look, I don't really want to know," Ian said, feeling slightly nauseated. "It was all in the past, a million years ago."

"Then--can't you just--"

"What? Get over it?" Ian retorted.

"I was gonna say forgive me," Salty said.

Ian rubbed his eyes, which were burning dry from the alcohol and the pool chemicals. "I've moved on. I have. I know I'm not really acting like it, but I have. I know you have, too. You don't need me to forgive you, and you shouldn't wait around for it because I'm not really any good at it."

He knew he was being stubborn and stupid, but he was afraid that Salty was going to want to be friends, and Ian would be forced to be a part of Salty's life in a way so different from what he had always imagined in his vague fantasies about the future.

"Okay," Salty said finally, leaning back, his hands on his knees. "But don't take it out on Kelly. He didn't know."

"You sure are protective of him," Ian couldn't help saying.

"That's not what I'm trying to do," Salty said. "I'm just trying to--I'm trying to be accountable here. It was my mistake."

"Well, stop," Ian said. "This isn't a baseball game. There are no reporters quoting you."

"Why do you always gotta be so nasty?" Salty said, and he looked so fucking hurt that Ian couldn't stand it.

"I don't know!" Ian practically shouted. "Look, I know I fucked up just as much as you did that summer and it makes me feel like an even bigger asshole when you keep saying sorry and I can barely even think about everything that happened without wanting to barf."

He wasn't just saying that, he realized. He really did feel sick, and he put his head down. "You better get out of here," he said. "I really am about to vomit."

Salty stood up. "You need me to get you some water or something?" he said anxiously.

"No," Ian croaked, "just get out."

"I'll get you some water," Salty said anyway, and left the bathroom.

Ian didn't throw up, but he continued to feel bad, his head throbbing and his stomach unsettled. After a few minutes Salty came back, to Ian's surprise.

"Did you throw up?" he said.

"No," Ian said miserably. He really shouldn't drink anymore, he thought. He was getting old enough that just a little too much made him feel completely wretched.

"Here, drink some," Salty said, handing him a bottle of water.

Ian took the bottle from Salty and drank a little. It didn't exactly make him feel better but it didn't make him feel worse, either.

"You need a ride home?" Salty said after a few moments.

Ian hunched over even more. He was still damp and very cold. "I don't wanna go back out there," he said pathetically.

"Aw, you'll be fine. Everyone's still out by the pool anyway."

"I'm such a fucking mess," Ian said, thinking of Kelly and how he always looked like he was moving in slow motion, like a movie star, compared to Ian, who was spastic and graceless.

"Here, I'll go tell Jeff you're not feeling great and I'm gonna take you home, and then I'll come back and help you out," Salty said.

And even though Ian was reluctant, it was such a relief to just do what Salty said. So he waited in the bathroom, leaning his head against the wall again and closing his eyes. Soon Salty was back, and he patted the towel around Ian's head and face and hung it up on the hook behind the door.

Ian followed Salty out of the house and toward his car, which was parked a little ways down the street.

"I think I've got a jacket in there that you can put on," Salty said, opening the passenger door for Ian. Ian climbed slowly up into the car. The jacket was on the seat, and Ian put it around his shoulders.

"Where you staying?"

"Just go down Bell Road a ways," Ian said. "I'll tell you where to turn."

The drive was mostly quiet but for Ian giving Salty directions, and when they pulled up at Ian's rental Salty shut the engine off.

"You need help gettin' in?" he said.

"No," Ian said, reluctantly pulling the jacket off. His nose was running. "Your coat's all wet now."

"That's okay," Salty said.

"Thanks for the ride," Ian said, putting his hand on the door handle.

"Any time," Salty said.

If things had gone differently, Salty wouldn't have even asked if he needed help, Ian thought miserably. He probably would've carried Ian inside without much ado.

"See you around," Ian said quickly, and without waiting for any more stupid pleasantries he got out as fast as he could, slamming the door behind him and hurrying up to the house to punch in the key code and get inside.

He went straight to his room, stripped off his wet clothes, and crawled into the bed, wanting to shut out the world for just a little while.

*

After a restless night Ian woke up feeling like his head was stuffed full of cotton. All his limbs ached and his stomach was still extremely unsettled. He barely made it to the bathroom in time to heave, and as he clutched the toilet bowl weakly, body shaking with chills, he realized this was probably more than just a hangover.

Still, he put on the warmest sweatpants and hoodie he could find and forced himself to walk the short distance to the Rangers practice facility, since his car was still parked on the street outside Jeff's house and he didn't feel like calling anyone to give him a ride.

The trainers took one look at him and told him he had to see the team doctor. "That doesn't look like a hangover," one of them said.

"I never get sick," Ian croaked, but they wouldn't let him into the weight room in case he spread it around.

He waited around for about forty-five minutes, and the doctor came in and took his temperature.

"It sounds like the flu," he said. "We should probably do a swab test. If you only started feeling symptoms last night we can still give you antivirals. We'll get someone to drive you over to the hospital and they can do the test right there."

Ian was able to lie down on a massage table for a while, but not long after that he heard his phone chirp.

It was a text message from Salty, saying that it had been nice to see him the night before and asking how he was feeling today.

Ian knew he probably shouldn't answer in his weakened state, but he felt so crappy that he couldn't help himself. So he texted Salty back, saying, _Think I have the flu or something. Supposed to go to hospital to get a test._

There was no answer from Salty, so Ian put his phone back in his pocket and tried to forget how awful he felt by falling asleep. He hurt too much to do more than close his eyes, though, and just waited around miserably.

One of the trainers drove him to the hospital, and he sat around even longer after they swabbed the back of his nasal passage and sent the sample off to be tested. When it came back they confirmed he had the flu, and they gave him some antiviral medication and a mild painkiller for his headache and told him to go home and drink lots of liquids.

The trainer drove him back to his house. When he got there he dragged a blanket out from the bedroom closet and lay down on the couch, flicking the TV on and eyeing his phone, which he'd set down on the coffee table. He tried to tell himself he wasn't waiting for Salty to text back, but eventually he just gave in and admitted that that was what he was doing, the illness making him feel more and more depressed and pathetic with each passing moment that Salty did not answer.

He dozed off a little later after dragging himself up to the bathroom only when he absolutely couldn't go another minute without soiling himself, the alcohol wringing every bit of moisture out of him that the fever sweats didn't. He didn't have any food in the house but it wasn't like he'd be able to keep anything down anyway, he reflected, talking himself out of the effort of going to the store. Eventually he'd have to either go or call someone to get something for him, but neither idea sounded in the least appealing.

In fact, he felt so lonely and sorry for himself that he called his mom, telling her that he was truly sick for the first time in years. As predicted, she nagged him about getting some food in the house and told him to call someone close by to come check on him. "Do your dad and I need to fly up there early?" she said. "I'm sure Tess would let us pull the kids out of school to start their visit sooner."

"Are you crazy? I don't want them up here catching whatever I've got. I'll be fine. I shouldn't have called."

"Ian, I worry about you. You're 33 years old and you've left your wife but you can barely take care of yourself. You need someone to look out for you. Howie, where's your phone? Oh, see, your dad is already looking up plane tickets."

"Do you have me on speaker?" Ian said.

"Of course I do," his mom said.

"Ugh. Okay, just calm down. Don't fly up here. I'll be fine. I was just getting a little weird sitting here in the house by myself, but they wouldn't let me hang around the clubhouse in case I gave it to someone else."

"Well, okay, but call me tonight, will you? You know, flu can turn into pneumonia just like that. Don't wait until it's too late to let someone know if you start having trouble breathing."

"I know, Ma. Stop nagging."

"I'm not nagging, I'm worried."

"I'll let you know if anything changes," Ian said in exasperation, and then hung up, tossing his phone back onto the table.

It was about four o'clock that afternoon when Ian heard a knock on the door. He ignored it at first, thinking it might be some kind of solicitation, but the knocking was persistent, so finally Ian dragged himself up, wrapping the blanket around his shoulders and going to the door.

When he opened it, Salty was standing there, his hand raised like he was in the middle of knocking.

"Oh. Hi," he said.

Ian stared. "Uh, hi," he said.

"Just left the ballpark. Traffic was already bad getting over here. Is it really the flu?"

"Yeah," Ian said.

They stood there for a few seconds.

"Can I come in?" Salty said.

"You'll probably get sick if you do," Ian said.

"Nah, I've had one of them flu shots," Salty said. "I get 'em every year ever since I got the pig flu that one year."

So Ian stepped back and let Salty in, walking back into the living room and climbing onto the couch again.

"Do you need anything?" Salty said, standing with his arms crossed and eyeing the TV, which, Ian was embarrassed to note, was on Ellen.

"I need to either get better or die," Ian said, turning the TV off. "Because this fucking sucks."

"You got anyone else checking on you?" Salty said.

"No," Ian replied, closing his eyes. For some reason now that Salty was here he was actually starting to feel sleepy.

Salty was quiet, then, and Ian just let his eyes stay closed. Some time passed, but Ian didn't know how long, the aching in his body distorting everything. He heard, as if from very far away, Salty opening the door of the refrigerator and some cupboards, but Ian was so exhausted that he didn't think much of it. He must've dozed off, because the next thing he knew he felt Salty touch his shoulder briefly.

"Hey, what's your door code?" he said quietly.

"You gonna rob me?" Ian mumbled. "It's 1515."

"Okay," Salty said. "I'll be back."

Ian fell asleep again immediately after that. He thought he heard Salty come in again a while later, and then he heard Salty talking in a low voice to someone on the phone. There was one loud crashing noise a while later that woke Ian up, but he dozed off again soon after, having very strange and vivid dreams about being unable to get to practice no matter how hard he tried, doctors and trainers and his parents and even Tess interfering with his efforts, and then hearing that Kelly had taken his place on the team and that Ian had been released. In the dreams he was unable to speak and thus defend himself in any way. It was extremely repetitive and unrestful, like running a marathon, but finally Ian pulled himself out of it and opened his eyes all the way.

It was dark outside, and Salty was sitting in the easy chair, looking at something on his phone, the TV on mute in the background.

He had his hat off for the first time, Ian saw hazily, and that was when Ian realized how short Salty's hair had been cropped. It was right down at his scalp, probably so that his increasing baldness would be less noticeable. He looked so different.

"Your hair," he said mournfully, though it came out kind of garbled.

Salty looked up.

"Oh, you're awake," he said, putting his phone down.

"What time is it?" Ian said carefully, trying harder to enunciate. His throat was very dry and his head still hurt pretty bad, but his stomach wasn't as unsettled as it had been.

"It's about half past seven," Salty said. "How're you feeling?"

"Still pretty bad, but I think sleeping helped. I need to take a piss," Ian said.

But he couldn't move. It was cold outside of the blanket.

"You need help?" Salty said, sitting up straighter and folding up the footrest on the chair.

"I don't want to get up," Ian said defeatedly.

"C'mon, I'll help you," Salty said.

Ian reached his hand out from under the blanket and let Salty help him up. Standing upright felt dizzying at first, but Salty put his arm around Ian's waist and walked with him to the bathroom.

Ian felt a little faint standing over the toilet, but Salty was there holding him up, and he even reached over to flush for Ian. Ian wondered if he should feel embarrassed. It had been years since they'd seen each other naked. But Salty didn't seem to think anything of it, and if Ian were honest with himself he felt too sick to have much in the way of self-consciousness. It was easy to just slip back into old patterns of this kind of intimacy.

They both washed their hands and then went back out to the living room.

"So," Salty said as Ian sank back down onto the couch cushions, "I made you soup." He sounded proud of himself.

"Whoa," Ian croaked.

"That's what my mom says to do when the girls are sick. She's a nurse."

"You know how to make soup?" Ian said.

"I called my mom and had her talk me through it."

"You called your mom?" Ian said, feeling slow.

"Yeah," Salty said. "Here, do you want some? You gotta eat something."

The soup was clear with only a few slices of carrot and spinach floating around in it, but Salty informed him it was chicken soup.

"There are no noodles," Ian said, looking down at it, the steam wafting up into his face. The only time he ever had chicken soup was out of a can. "Or chicken."

"It'll stay down better like this, she said. You need me to feed you?"

Ian gave Salty a look, feeling a bit incredulous at the extent of Salty's apparent desire to baby him. "Um, I think I can handle it," Ian said.

He ate slowly despite his hunger, and soon finished the whole bowl, setting it down on the table. Even the effort of eating was exhausting and he felt almost out of breath, so he asked Salty to get him his pills and then lay down again after taking them.

It wasn't long before the pain killer began to kick in once more and Ian felt his eyes drooping again.

"D'you have to get back to your boyfriend?" he mumbled, blinking at Salty slowly.

"What's that?" Salty said.

"I don't know," Ian said, barely aware of the difference between what he was saying and what he was thinking.

Salty came over to the couch and sat down at Ian's feet, reaching over and touching Ian's leg through the blanket. "I'm here to take care of you," he said.

"Salty," Ian said, his eyes watering a little.

"Shh, just go to sleep. We'll talk more later."

So Ian did.

*

He woke up the next morning in bed. The other side was rumpled, the covers thrown back, and Ian remembered then that Salty had helped him into bed late the night before and then gotten in beside him. He also had a dim recollection of having twisted the sheets up into a horrible tangle from all his tossing and turning, and Salty getting up to straighten them and to refill Ian's empty water glass.

He hadn't thrown up the soup at any point during the night, so that was good. Maybe the antivirals were working, because he realized he felt less pain and nausea and more exhaustion, his breathing a little labored but not as bad as the day before.

As he lay there, the early morning sun shining through the window, he thought about what it meant that Salty was here. Ian reached over, his hand flopping uselessly over the spot where the sheets were rumpled from Salty having lain on them.

Suddenly Salty appeared in the doorway. Ian quickly drew his hand back.

"I gotta go to practice," Salty said. "Will you be okay on your own until this afternoon?"

Ian looked over at him, turning his head on the pillow. "Yeah," he said, "I'll be fine."

"You need me to call anyone for you?"

Ian almost scoffed, about to say something about how weird it would be for people to realize that Salty was calling on his behalf, but he stopped himself. That was just the sort of thoughtless comment that always got him into trouble before and accomplished nothing but making him sound like a dick and making Salty feel bad.

"No, don't worry about me," Ian said. "Go work out and..." Ian struggled to find an encouraging phrase for Salty. "Be awesome."

"Alright," Salty said. "Just call me if you need anything. I'll be back soon as I can."

"Okay," Ian said, his voice sounding small and hoarse.

Salty paused a moment, and then turned to go.

"Salty," Ian said.

Salty turned around.

"Yeah?"

"Thanks," Ian said, his face feeling hot, and not just from fever.

And then there it was, just like the sun pouring into Ian's room. Salty smiled, looking so happy he was almost radiant.

"No problem," he said. "I'll be back before you know it."

"Okay," Ian said. It was nice, he realized, to have something to look forward to. It seemed like it had been a long time since he'd had that.

After a few more hours of napping, Ian finally got up and decided he needed to clean himself up. His hair was greasy, he smelled rank, and he badly needed a shave. When he got in front of the bathroom mirror he realized how awful he looked, his jawline showing after only about a day and a half of illness, and big dark smudges under his eyes.

It felt good to get in the shower, and then he realized that it was Thursday and the housekeeper would be by after lunch, so he stripped the sheets off the bed and piled all his laundry in the hamper.

Then he got into a clean pair of sweats and went out to the sunny patio in the backyard and sat for a while, deciding to call his kids and his mom.

That took up nearly an hour and a half, and by then he was tired again, so he went inside to take another nap on the couch. When he woke up it was to the sound of the housekeeper, who was surprised to see him home.

Before she finished Salty came back.

"You look a lot better," was the first thing he said.

"I feel better," Ian said. "You're home early." And then he nearly bit his tongue, wondering if Salty would notice that he'd just referred to Ian's house as Salty's home.

"Away game," Salty said. "A bunch of guys was gonna go play golf but I told them I had to go home."

"Thought you were trying to get out more," Ian said.

"Was I?" Salty said, sitting down on the couch next to Ian, his hands resting on his knees.

"That's what you said at the party the other night," Ian said.

Salty looked over at Ian for a long moment, and Ian felt his face get a little warm.

"I only went 'cause I was hoping I'd see you there," Salty said.

"What," Ian said involuntarily.

But then the housekeeper came through the living room suddenly, carrying a spray bottle and a roll of paper towels.

"Hi there," Salty said to her, smiling.

"Hello," she said, looking surprised to be addressed.

"I'm Jarrod," Salty said, standing up and holding out his hand.

"I'm Yolanda," she said. "Nice to meet you."

"Nice meetin' you," Salty said.

Ian again felt like a turd. Salty was always so nice and so friendly to everyone, and Ian was always a little curt, especially with people he didn't know. He wanted Salty around for so many reasons and this was yet another--to always be the nicer one, the warm one, the one people warmed up to. To cushion Ian's awkwardness for other people.

Salty and Yolanda talked for a while, and then he went off to the kitchen, insisting on making Ian a sandwich.

Yolanda left a little while later, and Ian fell asleep in front of the TV again.

When he woke up Salty was flipping through TV channels. Ian watched him for a while, the way he would peer down at the remote like an old person unable to figure out which button was the right one. And he was slow, too. Ian could tell pretty much instantly whether or not he wanted to watch something, but Salty would give every channel a good half a minute at least. It was cute as fuck, Ian thought emotionally.

"Sorry I've been so lame," Ian couldn't help saying eventually, after this went on for a while.

Salty turned around, looking startled, but his eyes softened when he saw Ian still lying on his side, blinking over at Salty. "What are you talkin' about," he said. "You're sick. That's not lame."

Ian sat up slowly, trying to decide what exactly he should say. "I just wish--I kept picturing for the past couple of years what I would say to you if we ever got a chance to talk again."

Salty stared at him for a moment and then turned the TV off.

"Ian, I wanted to talk," he said quietly.

"I know," Ian said, unable to look at Salty. "I wish I hadn't been such a dick about everything."

Salty got up from where he was sitting on the easy chair and came over to the couch again, sinking down next to Ian.

"You weren't," Salty said. "I know you, Ian baby."

Ian felt the corners of his mouth tugging downward at hearing that old endearment. Maybe it was being sick, but it almost physically hurt to hear it, something aching in his chest. Ian leaned toward Salty, then, and Salty reached up to wrap his arm around Ian, holding him close.

"I always knew," Salty continued quietly, his voice low above Ian's head. "There was the things you'd say in front of other people and then the things you'd do when we was alone, when it was just the two of us and I had you to myself. I knew the difference, and I shouldn't have brought someone else into what was ours."

Hearing that made Ian's eyes sting, and he felt a sob clawing its way up his chest, escaping before he could suppress it. "Why did you do it, Salty?" he said, anguished, and turned his face to Salty's chest, clutching at his shoulder.

"I'm so sorry," Salty said, rocking Ian a little bit and kissing Ian's hair. "I'm so sorry."

It felt good, Ian thought, choking down the old hurt welling up in him, just to let Salty say the words, without thinking of any reason to doubt the sincerity of them, without wondering why they'd come too late to prevent him from doing it in the first place, without thinking of all the reasons why they weren't good enough. He was glad that he didn't feel the need to be angry at either of them anymore, that he could let Salty see his own ugliness, like exposing a festering wound for the first time, that he could let Salty see how awful all of it still made him feel, and how helpless he'd been in trying to understand it or cover it up.

And though it was Salty who was apologizing, having him here now with his arms around Ian felt like an absolution. He felt Salty accepting the blame, easing the burden of guilt and wrongdoing from Ian's own shoulders--the blame Ian put onto himself because of his own thoughtlessness, his selfishness, his pride and fear. How many men would be willing to do such a thing? How was it that Salty was willing--and seemed almost _grateful_ \--to shoulder all the responsibility and somehow make Ian feel as if he didn't need to be angry at himself anymore for what he'd done?

They sat there for a long time, Salty holding Ian close while Ian tried to sort out all of the complicated emotions he was feeling.

"Okay, I'm not crying," he said finally, sitting up a little straighter and rubbing his eyes.

"It's okay," Salty said. "I know how it is. I've done my fair share of crying already."

Ian drew back. "You cried?" he said, trying to imagine what Salty looked like when he cried. He'd heard Salty's voice wobble a couple of times but never seen actual tears.

"Heck yes," Salty said. "When you left me and I knew my wife hated me for what I was doing to my family, and my kids would look at me all trusting and innocent and not knowing what a fuck-up their dad was? You bet I cried."

"I wish--that we hadn't done it all wrong, sometimes," Ian said. "I love my kids but I never should've gotten married. I just didn't know any better."

"Yeah," Salty said. "But if everything hadn't gone exactly the way it did, maybe we would've never met."

"Salty," Ian said involuntarily, drawing back and taking Salty's face between his hands. "I missed you."

Salty smiled, his face looking soft. "I missed you too," he said, and then he leaned forward quickly and kissed Ian right under his ear, reaching his arms around Ian and pulling Ian into his lap so they were facing each other.

Ian looked up at Salty. "I'm sorry for everything," he whispered. "I'm sorry I pretended like I didn't care, because I did care. I'm sorry that I took you for granted. I'm sorry that I was never there for you--"

"Shh," Salty said, reaching up to stroke Ian's hair down. "I should've trusted you and I should've been patient."

Ian tucked his head against Salty's shoulder and closed his eyes, feeling Salty breathe. "Is that what you've been doing these past few years? Being patient?"

"I was sure trying," Salty said. "Didn't know if I'd ever get you back but I wasn't gonna be caught napping if I got the chance."

Ian chuckled a little bit, then, ensconced in Salty's arms and breathing in the warm, familiar smell of him.

"I was a total ass at that barbecue. I think I thought--" Ian broke off, wondering if he should actually say it.

"Thought what?" Salty said.

"I thought you and Kelly were...you know." Suddenly he reared back. "You aren't, are you?" he demanded, gripping Salty's shoulders tightly.

"No," Salty said. "It was only the once, I swear."

Ian watched him for a moment, wondering how it was that one decided whether or not to trust a person and believe him. Salty must've seen the hurt in his eyes, because he sighed.

"Maybe you don't want to know, but I think I should tell you what exactly happened."

Ian braced himself, wanting to know but afraid to hear it, too.

Salty cleared his throat, looking down. "I was real lonely that summer. When I think back of course I can see that I just had to be patient and wait for you to get through whatever it was you had to get through, but I was trying too hard and wanting everything to go my way too quick. And I got it in my head that we were done and I didn't mean anything to you, and what we were doing was too hard to keep up with when we was so far away from each other. And then we were in Toronto and I was just so lonely, Ian. We'd just been to Texas and you guys had come to Boston and you hadn't said a word to me or answered my calls and I just knew, or I thought I knew, that it was over. So I didn't even think I was doing anything wrong when I ran into Kelly and invited him for a drink just because I needed someone to talk to, and then a drink turned into three or four, and then I missed you so much and he seemed like he understood something about that. I knew right after that it wouldn't happen again, but he was a shoulder to lean on for a few hours. Nothing more than that."

"Are you still--well, you're obviously still friends."

"Yeah," Salty said, "he's been someone I can talk to. It's been pretty tough, what with the divorce and missing you and all. But I know he'd understand if you didn't want me to talk to him anymore."

Ian frowned a little, fiddling with the seam on Salty's sleeve. "Don't ask me yet," he said finally, looking back up at Salty. "I want to say the right thing but I still feel all torn up inside when I see him."

Salty kissed Ian's forehead. "I know," he said. "I wanna do right by you." He held Ian close, and Ian had a moment to ponder the fact that, really, all that mattered in the end was both of them wanting to do the right thing for the other.

They sat together for a while until Salty confessed that his legs were going numb and Ian climbed off so he could fall asleep still clutching Salty, the physical and emotional exhaustion of the day finally catching up with him.

*

Ian felt good enough the next morning to go to practice, and though he wasn't in the lineup for the game and didn't do anything too strenuous, he talked to some reporters and got some good stretching and lifting in. He sat in the dugout for about five innings during the game that afternoon, which was in Surprise, and then went home to wait for Salty, who was starting in a game that day.

At one point later in the afternoon Ian got a phone call from Tommy Hunter, who was a reliever with the Padres, now, inviting him to go out for dinner with some other guys, so Ian said yes, telling Tommy he would be bringing Salty along. Tommy seemed to take it in the spirit of a Rangers reunion and decided to try to round up as many guys from the Tom Hicks era as he could get hold of.

Salty seemed surprised but pleased that Ian wanted to go out for dinner with a bunch of other guys. They drove into Scottsdale together and Ian had a good time, sitting next to Salty and enjoying the fact that there were enough people around the table that it wouldn't seem weird that he and Salty were squashed so close together.

Ian was still a little run down from the flu so they left around 10, declining the invitation to go clubbing with some of the other guys, and Salty drove them back to Ian's house.

"I should probably get my car at some point," Ian said.

"You wanna go do it now?" Salty asked.

There was something else Ian wanted to do, actually, but he didn't know how to bring it up. He still had the sort of boneless feeling of tiredness after having been sick, but there was also that strange feeling of expectation and hope, as if his body had been completely reborn from the illness and was learning new things and processing new sensations.

"Um, no, maybe tomorrow," he said, eyeing Salty out of the corner of his eye.

Salty didn't seem to catch Ian's meaning. "Okay," he said agreeably, and soon they pulled up in front of Ian's house.

Ian brushed his teeth while lying on the couch, staring blankly at the TV while Salty was busy putting the contents of his gym bag into the washing machine and listening to his voicemails.

When the foam and saliva in his mouth started to overflow Ian trotted to the bathroom to spit and then marveled at how good he felt when not even two days ago he'd seriously contemplated wanting to die.

Wondering when Salty would come into the bedroom, Ian decided to change into his boxers and t-shirt and get in bed to wait rather than go out and try to seduce Salty and get him to hurry up and come to bed.

But Ian hadn't counted on the tiredness mattering more than all the other stuff, and long before Salty came in he was fast asleep, the lights still on.

He woke up sometime later and it was completely dark. Salty was asleep beside him, his broad back facing Ian, and Ian took a moment just to appreciate the reality of the moment, the weight of Salty in the bed next to him, the slow, even sound of his breathing as he slept. It was both familiar and novel, triggering both cherished memory and new awe, and Ian vacillated between them, feeling the former in one moment and the latter in the next. He'd always taken this for granted before, Ian thought remorsefully. He'd thought he would always have it. But now he knew different.

Salty always slept without a shirt on, and Ian was glad to see that hadn't changed. Ian could see even in the darkness the smattering of freckles all across Salty's shoulders, souvenirs of so many days spent out under the sun. As quietly as he could he moved a little closer, resting his forehead lightly against the place between Salty's shoulder blades, inhaling the warm smell of Salty's skin and feeling the way his whole torso expanded and contracted steadily.

Ian meant to let Salty sleep, but his own chest cavity felt as if it would burst with all the emotions he was holding inside himself. He couldn't help kissing Salty's back and putting his fingers up to trace the constellations of freckles, wanting to touch and know that Salty was real and present.

Ian could tell the moment when Salty woke. His breathing paused for a beat, and then he turned his head back toward Ian, his body following when he realized Ian was curled against his back, waiting impatiently.

"What're you doing awake?" Salty said, his voice gravelly.

"I don't know," Ian whispered. "Just wanted to make sure you're real."

Salty smiled a little, his droopy eyes so sleepy. "I'm real," he said, resting one hand heavily on Ian's side.

Ian looked at Salty's beautiful face, his kind, sleepy eyes, and reached up to touch Salty's cheek lightly.

"I'm glad you came back to me," Ian said, even more quietly, his voice just a bit of sound shifting the air in the space between them.

Salty stilled, his smile fading. "Baby," he said softly, and he leaned forward, then, catching Ian's lips.

Salty was so hot, Ian thought helplessly, closing his eyes and feeling as if some powerful force were sweeping over him. He reached for Salty blindly, and Salty rolled over, his body half crushing Ian, but the weight was so welcome. He kissed Ian deeply, the kind of panting, wet kiss that made Ian want to gasp and surrender.

So he did, reaching up to run his hands across the short stubble on Salty's head, all that remained of the springy curls Ian had known from before and assumed would always be there.

Every touch of Salty's made Ian remember something he'd forgotten or taken for granted. He had dreamed many times of the way Salty used to stroke down the side of Ian's body as if Ian were curved like a woman, but nothing compared to the feeling of Salty actually doing it now, as if Ian's body were shaped by Salty's hands, existing only where Salty touched him, like the ephemeral fluorescent lines of a glow stick waved through the darkness. Ian had forgotten what it was like to feel like he was no longer a body of flesh and blood but pulses of heat and light, everything in him melting and scattering until Salty could gather him up and hold him together.

"You up for this right now?" Salty said, breathing heavily over Ian. "Because we've got time."

"Yeah," Ian moaned. "Please."

Salty paused, letting his head hang down for a moment between his shoulders. "Jesus, Ian, when you use that _voice_." He raised his eyes again. "What've you got for lube?"

"Um, I think there's a tube in my suitcase over there."

"Where in your suitcase?" Salty said, hoisting himself up.

Ian's eyes swept immediately down Salty's torso and alighted on his cock, which was hard, tenting his shorts, Ian noted in satisfaction.

"Probably at the bottom. You'll have to dig around for it." He took his t-shirt off and then slid his own boxer briefs down, tossing them over the side of the bed.

Salty rummaged around for a while and then finally came up with a tube. "This better not be Bengay," he said, his teeth gleaming as he smiled in the darkness, referring to an unfortunate mishap they'd had in the nascent days of their relationship.

"Don't even pretend that was as bad for you as it was for me," Ian said sourly, and Salty laughed a little, shedding his boxers before climbing back into the bed.

"Poor Ian baby," he said, reaching for Ian again, and Ian forgot all about Bengay and laughing and memories of the past, because Salty brought him right to the present and held him there, beginning to kiss him again, his large hands reaching up to hold Ian's head, threading through his hair, stroking his neck and his chest and then moving down between Ian's thighs.

Ian made another helpless sound, then, shifting his legs apart and lifting his knees slightly.

Salty just touched him, working Ian up so that he soon had his knees splayed wide, desperate for Salty to fuck him.

"Jarrod," Ian said, squeezing Salty's shoulders.

"I know, baby, I know," Salty said, reaching for the little tube and squeezing some out onto his fingers.

Ian hissed a little with how cold it was but then he felt Salty's fingers breaching his body, teasing and stroking and pushing, and just when Ian thought he couldn't stand another second of it, Salty reached down to try to work himself in.

Ian couldn't help shutting his eyes. He wanted to reach up and cover his face, always so ashamed, in front of Salty, of how much he loved this and how much he needed it, but Salty must've remembered Ian's propensity to do this, and he reached up to hold Ian's wrists up above his head so Ian couldn't hide.

Salty kept pushing, and when he got all the way in he kissed Ian again, guiding Ian's face toward him gently with the heel of his palm.

"There ain't nothing like this," Salty said simply, looking down at Ian and shifting a little inside him as Ian trembled. "None of it was any good without you, Ian baby."

"Jarrod," Ian said again, and he arched his back a little and Salty sank in deeper.

"Jesus," Salty said again, and he reached down to hold Ian's thigh up around his hip, folding it almost back on itself and spreading Ian a little wider.

And then he started fucking Ian in earnest, picking up the pace a little.

Ian's hands were free now to cling to Salty, so he did, holding onto his back and his sides, and then Salty pulled out and flipped Ian over, and this was the _best_ way, Ian thought almost dreamily, his cheek pressed to the pillow and Salty all around him, the two of them arching and straining against each other to get as close as possible.

Soon Ian heard Salty grunt in that distinctive way that meant he was gonna come within the next few thrusts, and sure enough he did, dropping heavily onto Ian's back after and taking a few moments to catch his breath. Ian just lay there patiently, waiting for Salty to collect himself and take care of Ian because he knew Salty would.

Sure enough, Salty turned Ian over and went down on him. It only took a few moments before Ian came, and Salty just kept moving his hands over Ian's body, stroking Ian's trembling thighs and stomach as he came down, kissing the indent above Ian's hipbone, the tiny freckle next to Ian's belly button, Ian's nipples, and under Ian's chin. It was like some kind of ritual, Ian thought hazily, feeling both unworthy and grateful at the same time. Salty did it almost like a penance or an act of worship, a strange subordination of his body to Ian's pleasure, and it made Ian almost afraid.

But then Salty finished and the feeling settled back into comfortable familiarity, two sweaty guys pressed up against each other in a small, dark room. Salty flopped down next to Ian and turned them both on their sides, pulling Ian's hips back up close against his own and draping his arm possessively around Ian's middle.

Now, again, Ian let his exhaustion overtake him and he curled comfortably back against Salty. Every moment, every breath seemed so precious now, Salty filling up all the hollow, empty places in Ian that had had to be emptied before Ian had even become aware of their existence.

As everything slowed from frenetic to still, from hot to cool, Ian began to understand that Salty's presence made the difference between the peace of quiet and the loneliness of silence. He smiled to himself in the darkness, reaching down to twine his fingers through Salty's and pull him closer.

*

_One Week Later_

"Daddy, watch me!" Rian shouted, bouncing up and down on the small diving board poking out over the deep end of the pool.

"Hold on, I'm getting Jack's armbands back on," Ian said, trying to still Jack long enough to get his arms through one of them. "Salty, will you look at that other one? I think it has a leak."

"Sure," Salty said, having just emerged from the house. He bent down, picking it up and examining it, watching Sidney and Hunter out of the corner of his eye while they splashed and screeched and pushed Sloane around on an inner tube in the shallow end of the pool.

"Your mom said to tell you dinner's in half an hour." Salty handed the armband back to Ian. "Looks good to me."

"Have you been deflating it on your own?" Ian said to Jack, exasperated.

"No!" Jack said, still squirming.

"He just doesn't wanna be the only one in the pool with floaters on, right, Jack?" Salty said, smiling down at him and ruffling his wet hair.

"I can swim as good as them," Jack insisted in his gruff little voice.

"Daddy! Are you watching?" Rian said, getting impatient.

"I'm watching," Ian affirmed, finally letting Jack go. He stood up, eyes on Rian, and felt Salty step a little closer and rub a hand up and down his back briefly.

Rian bounced a few times on the board and then leaped up, tucking her knees and making a giant splash as she did a cannonball into the water.

Salty's girls shrieked and Jack, who hadn't made it back into the pool yet, sat down at the edge, rubbing the water out of his eyes.

"Good form," Ian called, smiling at Rian as she surfaced. "This winter I'm teaching you how to do a real dive." He lowered his voice. "If Tess doesn't drag them to those stupid ass lessons first. Every time I want to do something parental she beats me to it."

"She'll let you take 'em longer this offseason," Salty said. "Especially if we get a real house."

"She'd better," Ian muttered. He reached up and wiped at the small beads of sweat on his forehead.

"You tired?" Salty asked.

"Yeah. Aren't you? And after dinner you're still gonna have to take the girls back to your place to pack up for their flight tomorrow."

Salty frowned. "That's right. Almost forgot for a minute that they gotta leave."

The screen door opened behind them, and Salty and Ian turned to see Ian's dad coming out, sunglasses still on.

"How was it?" Ian said.

"Fine, fine," Howard said. "The slope on the approach at the 18th hole was real steep and I missed that last putt. Nice course, though."

"That's good," Ian said.

"The food in the club is real good there," Salty said.

"Yeah," Howard said curtly.

Ian realized he was holding his breath and forced himself to exhale. He'd had The Talk with his parents after they'd arrived earlier in the week, and since then Howard had been hard to read, not saying much to Ian and hardly anything to Salty.

All three of them stood around watching the kids play for a few minutes.

"So," Howard said, after a while, "you guys got that infield situation figured out yet?"

It took both Salty and Ian a moment to realize he was addressing Salty, referring to the fact that the Astros were still trying to figure out how to distribute too many platoon players. It was the first time Howard had begun any sort of conversation with Salty, and frankly, Ian was flabbergasted.

"Uh, yeah, it's--you know, it's coming together," Salty said, uncrossing his arms and turning to face Howard. They kept talking, and it wasn't exactly free and easy conversation, but it was something. After a while Ian decided to let it be, going over to supervise Jack as he tried to doggie paddle his way across the shallow end.

Soon Ian's mom came out to call them into dinner and they had to drag the reluctant kids out of the pool.

They all sat around the table, the girls eating noisily, their hair still wet and plastered to their foreheads, and Jack very carefully separating all of his food into sections on his plate. Salty continued a stilted but very civil dialogue with both of Ian's parents while Ian tried to get Jack to eat vegetables. Salty, he had noticed earlier in the week, didn't seem too bothered by the fact that Hunter was refusing all meat. He wondered if he was allowed to make any suggestions about the importance of getting enough protein.

The kids went out to the living room to watch a movie after dinner, and Ian told his parents to go out and watch it with them.

Kathy demurred. "No, no, I can clean up--"

"Mom. Salty and I will do the dishes."

"Okay, if you're sure. But that casserole dish is going to need--"

"Let them clean up," Howard said.

They finally went to the other room, and Ian surveyed the mountain of stacked plates and salad bowls next to the sink.

"We could just leave them for Yolanda to do," he said hopefully.

Salty chuckled. "You don't think she'll have enough work sorting and doing all the laundry and towels and sheets we got dirty in the last week?"

Ian sighed, and they set to work, standing in front of the sink together. Even though doing dishes was pretty much Ian's least favorite thing in the world next to losing, he had to admit it wasn't bad when Salty was standing next to him, his tongue poking out as he scrubbed a dried piece of melted cheese off of a pan.

"I think this week went alright," Ian said.

Salty looked up. "Yeah," he said easily. "Sid and Rian are best friends already. They had me buy them friendship bracelets at the mall yesterday. I think Hunter felt a little left out."

"You think they'll still want to be friends when they know about us?" Ian said quietly.

"Why not?" Salty said.

"Well, you heard how defensive Rian gets already about Tess."

"I also saw that she was pretty happy to see you and get to spend time with you."

"Aren't you worried about how your kids will take it?"

Salty was quiet for a minute as he ran another plate under the faucet. "I think," he said finally, "that at the end of the day, no matter what happens, if you're good to your kids and you want them to be happy, they want you to be happy, too."

"My dad wasn't happy when I told him about us the other night," Ian said.

"Maybe not, but look, after a couple of days of ignoring everything I tried to say to him he's starting up a conversation with me," Salty said.

"Yeah," Ian said, still unable to believe it had actually happened. "Never saw that coming in a million years."

They finished loading the dishwasher in silence, but after Ian rinsed out the sink Salty turned him around, holding Ian's shoulders with his hands. "It'll be okay," Salty said. "We've already done the hard part."

"What do you mean, the hard part?"

"I mean us," Salty said. "We had to figure our shit out, but now that we've done that I think the rest will work itself out, too."

"You're too cheerful about everything," Ian said, but he reached up and flicked Salty's nose, and then stood up on his tip-toes to kiss him briefly.

Salty caught him around the middle and bent Ian back a little bit, and everything still felt new, Ian thought, a rush of excitement going through him, like rediscovering what it had been like in the very beginning. He wasn't glad, exactly, that they'd had a three-year hiatus, but it did make everything now feel sweeter, since it had been so hard-won.

Salty pushed him gently back into the counter top and they kept making out, getting sloppier and sloppier, and it wasn't until he heard a loud explosion sound from the movie the kids were watching that Ian broke away reluctantly.

"Later," he said, patting Salty's collarbone gently.

"Yeah, I should get the kids home so we can pack," Salty said. "But damn."

"I know," Ian said, smirking, and then wriggled his way out of Salty's grasp to go tie up the trash bag while Salty wiped down the table.

"Oh, by the way," Ian said, eyeing Salty out of the corner of his eye. "I talked to Kelly Johnson at the ballpark today."

Salty paused, arm extended to the far side of the table, his back bent, and looked over at him. "Is that right?"

Ian tried to look reassuring but knew his face was probably screwed up in a weird grimace. "Yeah. I tried to, you know, be cool. Just thought you should know."

Salty smiled, straightening. "Thanks, babe. I appreciate it."

"Yep," Ian said. And then he couldn't help himself. "But he struck out all three times he was up."

Salty laughed.

While the kids finished the movie Salty and Ian went around to each room and the back yard to pick up any of the Salty girls' stuff that had been left around the house, loading it all up in Salty's car. When it came time to leave there was a lot of whining and clingy hugs from Sidney, and even some crying from Rian.

"She must get that from me," Ian said grumpily, which made Salty laugh again, but finally Sidney, Hunter and Sloane were all in the car, and Howard and Kathy held Jack's and Rian's shoulders as they stood on the porch, waving goodbye.

Salty had the window down on the driver's side and Ian stood next to the door, hand resting on the edge of the window.

"Come by and have dinner tomorrow after you take the girls to the airport," he said.

"You sure you don't want your last night alone with your family?" Salty said.

"Fuck that," Ian said, meaning Salty shouldn't exclude himself from Ian's family, but unable to say so in so many words.

"You didn't hear that," Salty said mildly to the girls, looking back at them in the rear view mirror, but Sloane was the only one staring at Ian from the back seat, Sidney and Hunter too busy straining up against their seat belts trying to wave at Rian.

"Come," Ian pleaded.

Salty smiled. "Alright. I'll text you after the game, see where you are."

"Okay," Ian said. He let go of the door, and Salty raised his hand to wave, backing the car out of the driveway and heading west toward the sun setting behind the mountains in the distance.

Ian turned back toward his family, regarding them briefly as they stood on the step. Then he took a deep breath.

"Kids," he said, putting one hand on each of their heads as they went back inside, his parents behind them. "Let's sit down for a minute. I've got something I need to tell you."

 

_the end_


End file.
